The Shell Collector
by Ladyfun
Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself This is the story of how she does just that- through laughs, tears, raunch, and everything Faberry, meet
1. Chapter 1

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Various Hotties

**Rating: **All audiences-f_or this chapter only_. Then it will defervesce into my usual amalgam of inappropriateness and M/NC-17 ratings.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, and meant only for the well being and warm fuzziness it will inspire in Glee Femslashers everywhere. (Grandiose, much?)

**Summary: **Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N**: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. This is just a plot line that has allowed me to vent a few issues rolling around in my head that need personal airing out. I'm sorry that I'm deviating from my Pezberry roots, folks, it just wouldn't work with Santana- she's just to self aware and has her shit together. I need more self-obtuse characters for this to work for me. (Don't beat me, I'm still a card carrying Pezberrian—Just not today)

**PROLOGUE: **

"Over Hereeee! Please Rachel!"

Flash.

"Smile, Princess Gwendolyn!"

Flash.

"Hey! Here!"

Flashes, everywhere.

This would blind the novice, surely. The worst part? The _noise._ People always underestimate the noise. It's almost impossible to hear the guiding words of someone standing right next to you, ushering you to where you need to go, stand, and smile over the din and crackle of the hubris and the screaming onlookers.

Rachel sighed, and steeled her nerves. She turned on the megawatt charm once she was guided to the mark, and prepared herself for the different iteration of the same question.

"It's a big night for you, tonight, Miss Berry. Did you ever expect to be on Hollywood's biggest stage after years on the Broadway stage?"

Rachel glanced at the questioner, speculating to herself if that was a sunburn versus a chemical peel gone awry on the plastic man.

"No, certainly not. It's just an honor to be here." She replied with her practiced humility.

_Broadway's Sweetheart couldn't be anything but…sweet. Right?_

"After a record seven-SEVEN! Tony nominations without a **single** win, are you nervous about your chances to take home your first Oscar -on your first nomination- here?"

_No, you vapid dumb-ass. This doesn't mean anything compared to REAL acting in New York_, Rachel thought to herself.

What she said, out loud, however, was something different.

"Naturally, I was as shocked as you people were that I was nominated! It was a real departure from what I normally do – but, it came along at the right time, and was…well, transformative for me at the time. I guess the Academy recognized that, as well. "

She added with a wink, "Fingers crossed."

She smiled as she prepared herself for the next version of the same question. The red carpet at the Tony's were so …. _different_. You would never get the same question twice, except about your dress. Half of the people were drunk, almost all would swear – extepting the perfunctory tight-ass sent by the New York Times—and usually the questions had some degree of raunch to them, especially from the gay men, all of whom LOOOOVED Rachel. Half the time, she wouldn't make it down the nominal carpet without laughing so hard she would be reduced to tears and her single "handler" would cluck and have to fix her makeup at some point that night. Usually, someone would break into song, either her or her interviewer.

Of course, _that_ red carpet was never televised, and no one (read: the ignorant public) gave a shit about the Tony's, not really.

She missed it, the comfort of the familiar.

Now, here, she had _three_ handlers, none of whom were hers. All were part of the studio juggernaut, all there to ensure Rachel conformed to what a Disney Princess was supposed to do, be, say, look like….and especially, **appear** like.

Don't hurt the brand, after all.

She was already filming the sequel, and god forbid Rachel give one of the typical bawdy answers expected of a Broadway affair, and create a sound bite Disney would have to wipe clean of social media the next day.

She smiled at the fans and waved. They went crazy. A small girl flashed a doll she was holding.

"Look Princess Gwen! You're my favorite toy!" She waved her doll emphatically.

_When did I become a toy?_ Rachel Barbra Berry pondered to herself as they headed to the theatre amid more flashes.

**XOXOX**

"…and the best actress award goes to …**_woah!"_** The room tittered. The tuxedoed man continued, "it goes to…the lovely Princess Gwendolyn… _Rachel Berry_."

Rachel, sat, stunned. Her handlers jerked her up, motioning her toward the podium. She had expected to just have to sit there, politely smiling, through the perfunctory split screen while some other, more typical, and certainly more expected, Hollywood actress sauntered up to the stage. One who had actually had a challenging role, for example.

Suddenly, she found herself at the podium with literally a billion eyes worldwide looking at her.

She cleared her throat.

"Um…I don't think you're supposed to say '**_woah_**,'"she said to her presenter.

A laugh rippled through the auditorium.

"However, I have full license to say it…**woah.** Woah, woah, _woah_! How did I get here?"

A second small laugh followed.

For the second time in her life, Rachel Barbara Berry was totally unprepared. She was supposed to win a _Tony_, for God's sake. She wasn't a movie actress. Yet, here she was, and a billion eyes were expecting her to say something other than… woah.

She smiled. "I think at this point, I should thank the Academy…so thank you. Thank you for ruining Oscar pools world wide this evening, including my own!"

Another laugh.

Her face turned serious. "Thank you to my fathers, one of whom is in Heaven, for never giving up on me. Thanks to Mr. Shusester, my high school Glee director, and fellow Glee clubbers, for frustrating and inspiring me. Um… I want to thank my mentor, Carmen Thibedoueax, for pushing me to be better. Thank you to my best NYADA teacher, Ms. July, for encouraging me to take the first role of Cat Rollins INSTEAD of Fanny Brice, which shaped my career into something I didn't expect at all, and of course, to Disney, for putting me here today and on the shelves of toy stores everywhere…"

Another laugh.

Rachel took a breath, she had rattled off almost all the mandatory thank-yous. She had ten seconds left. _Ten seconds._

She exhaled.

"I think," she began slowly, "this movie, and really, my being here tonight, is about a common motif. "

She looked around the room, scanning the crowd. Her handlers looked nervous.

"Sometimes, despite all the best planning in the world, life doesn't go the way you expect. Sometimes, things are out of your control, and despite the most sincere effort, things….fall apart. They fall through your hands, like sand…and no matter how hard to try, you can't hold on."

She paused.

"And then you look down at the pile and say, 'why was I trying to hold on to that for so long?' And that's when you notice a shell lying next to the sand, and that beautiful thing is what you were _actually_ supposed to find. As you pick it up, you wonder how you could have _ever_ missed it in the first place. Princess Gwendolyn was like that for me…just like my protagonist, **_I_** never expected this turn of events. And yet, she fits me, and here I am. How could I ever have missed her? "

Three seconds.

"So thank you, everyone. And the lesson is, don't fight so hard for a prize you don't really want to win. Examine that pile of sand with a discerning eye. Remember what is important in this world—to you, and those around you. You never know when your shell is lying there on the beach, waiting for **you** to pick it up. So…for heaven's sakes…**_pick it up!"_**

Laughs morphed into thunderous applause. Rachel Berry had won over yet another crowd, without even singing a note. As she stepped away from the podium as the conductor was expectantly raising his baton, she winked at him. He lowered his baton, shocked. She was exactly 30 seconds.

_He doesn't understand I do live theatre for my real job_, she mused.

She slumped against the wall, holding the trophy in her hand. She knew she was in for a long night of more inane questions. Really, she never expected this role to amount to much. It wasn't unlike a million other offers she had previously turned down, but the timing was right, for once. It was a lot of money, it got her a break for a small bit away from New York, the pressures of carrying a show on her back—because, really, what name is bigger than Disney, after all? Most importantly, it was an escape from her failed marriage, and an opportunity to regroup. However, while Rachel wasn't paying attention and simply going through the motions, she had managed to turn what would have been a much lesser role into something really poignant. That transformation, in very unexpected packaging, simply… resonated.

_And I wasn't even trying_, she thought, ironically. _Yet, parts I__** killed**__ myself for…or starved myself for…or learned Italian …. Seven nights a week, two Sunday matinees….nothing! Then this…this _**Princess**_…_ Rachel shook her head.

_Princess Gwendolyn_. Her now iconic role.

As she lowered her trophy, her eyes drifted to the vacant indentation on her ring finger, and felt her anger bubble up again. _Why was she still mad? _She hadn't loved Finn for years. Years! So why was she still mad that it was over?

Was it just because of her pride, in stumbling upon his affair coming home from the theatre unexpectedly that made her upset? Was it because of resentment that she carried the family economically _for years_ while he seemed to flit endlessly between school and careers? Was it anger because he wouldn't stop dating the other woman while they went to marriage counseling? What a joke that was! You can't go to marriage counseling with three people involved…

_She should be grateful, really, that he had the affair with that dumb bitch. If he hadn't, you'd still be in there, trying to fix it. Make it right. Hold on to that pile of sand with my death grip. _Rachel suddenly felt exhausted. She sighed. _Why don't you do some honestification, Berry. Admit the truth, just once._ _Yes, you __**are**__ mad that he was the one who had the guts to end it, and one upped you…but that's not the real reason._ _Admit the truth to yourself, just once. Holy fucksticks- what is the truth anymore?_

Rachel suspected the truth was that she was, indeed, mad….mad at _herself._

Rachel _knew_ she had seen the shell. That beautiful, golden-haired shell…and she looked at it, recognized it, and dropped it back and dug for the sand anyway.

Now, here she was, full of resentment and bitterness.

She resented Finn for her own bad decisions. For her cowardice at not recognizing what she wanted. She was angry at her lost opportunity.

_That probably wasn't fair to him, once again. Once again, Rachel Berry is NOT FAIR to Finn Hudson. Great._ _And you can't even be grateful, in this moment, of what you just accomplished. What's wrong with you, Berry? _

Responding to her own internal dialogue, she thought, _but HE'S the cause of my missed opportunity, right? My wasted chance. Nothing seems to sting as much as that does in life, _she mused.

_But…blaming Finn won't help you now, Berry_…._no one held a gun to your head_. Lost in thought, her mind drifted back to the one **other** time she was speechless, the time she discovered the aforementioned shell…

And for the first time that night, Rachel Barbra Berry smiled.

_Really_ smiled.

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2 Seven Nods Two Princesses

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Various Hotties

**Rating: **All audiences-f_or this chapter only_. Then it will defervesce into my usual amalgam of inappropriateness and M/NC-17 ratings.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, and meant only for the well being and warm fuzziness it will inspire in Glee Femslashers everywhere. (Grandiose, much?)

**Summary: **Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N**: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. This is just a plot line that has allowed me to vent a few issues rolling around in my head that need personal airing out. I'm sorry that I'm deviating from my Pezberry roots, folks, it just wouldn't work with Santana- she's just to self aware and has her shit together. I need more self-obtuse characters for this to work for me. (Don't beat me, I'm still a card carrying Pezberrian—Just not today)

**CHAPTER ONE: Seven Nods and Two Princesses **

The entire adult existence of the members of the Glee Club could be recounted through Rachel's seven Tony nominations, almost to a man.

**NOMINATION ONE: Caprase.**

Her first Tony nod was for her debut performance in "Caprase". She stretched herself, even learning Italian fluently, but unfortunately lost to a veteran who herself had not won despite five previous noms.

The morning after, over waffles, at their favorite greasy spoon from NYADA, "The Greasy Spoon," Ms. July –or "J" as Rachel affectionately called her, and the diva speculated together.

"Schwimmer, they had to give it to the MILF. She should have one last year. You got screwed." She said, matter of fatly.

"It's fine, J. It's my first role. More will come."

"What'd that lump of a husband of yours say? He looked constipated on TV the entire night."

"He said the tux was uncomfortable. That's about it."

Between noms one and two, Rachel got pregnant. And lost the baby in her first trimester. Kurt and Santana held her, as she cried in their arms.

"What did Finn say?" Kurt said, gently.

"Finn? Oh. I haven't told him, yet."

Santana and Kurt exchanged a knowing look, but said nothing. Santana gently stroked Rachel's back. "The body knows, Rachel. It knows if you're ready, or not. It's not your time…not yet. That's all."

She clung to her friends for dear life.

Later that week, Santana received news she was accepted into Harvard Law. The celebration was bittersweet for Rachel; she had come to depend on Santana as her main lifeline. She felt lost—but she knew it was a great opportunity for her dear friend.

"Hey, dwarf, relax! Boston is 3 hours away from here. I promise I will not abandon my post as Chief Hobbit Protector. I _promise_."

She clutched Rachel tighter as Rachel started sobbing.

"Rach, listen," she whispered quietly. "Look, you're all I have left. Between Quinn AND Brittany going MIA, you're it. You're the only one left that keeps me whole. I will _never_ abandon you. I promise you."

She kissed the top of her head, and made good on her promise.

**NOMINATION TWO: Fantine**

Rachel had sunk into a depression when Santana left, and she stopped eating. It had the side effect of causing her to shed her baby fat, and then some. When she was offered the edgy retelling of Les Mis, the rock opera, "Fantine," she shocked people when she appeared as gaunt as she did.

Some speculated she was using drugs or worse.

However, the moment she took the stage, she was home again, and her voice was still a powerhouse. Her star was rising.

_Fatine _led to her second nomination, and her second loss. But she had enough clout to pull in some friends into her circle- she got Mike a job choreographing a stomp-like show, and Tina joined the chorus of "Kinky Boots".

The morning after her second loss, Mike and Tina joined J, Rachel, Kurt, and Santana for her rally breakfast at the Greasy Spoon.

"Eh…you were doomed from the start. No one _likes _Les Mis…they just pretend they do." Ms. July said.

The rest nodded affirmatively.

**Nomination Three: Nothin' But A Thang**

For her third nomination, Rachel took on a drama, without singing. She was nervous, and truth be told, somewhat diva-esque. Rachel totally disagreed with almost every interpretative decision the director made. Every choice became a _battle._ It didn't help that he brought a Slavic, chauvistic attitude to rehearsal with him, and Rachel despised his womanizing, and frankly, the man himself.

His wife just had a _baby_, after all.

Add to the fact the play centered on a junkie in New York, the daily environment was hardly upbeat. It was so far from musical theatre, you couldn't even see it from your front porch.

When the volatile director ultimately stormed off the set, Rachel approached the producers gingerly.

"I…um. I have a …suggestion." Rachel offered

"What a surprise."

"No, really. I may have a solution, for the director vacancy. It…Its an up and coming director. He just finished the Rep season at the Huntington Theatre to rave reviews."

"The Rep in Boston?"

"Yep. I have a scout who checked him out. I've known him for a long time. His name is Artie Abrams."

"Scouts? Rachel Berry has scouts, now?"

"Yes." Said Rachel, with a straight face. She declined to mention her "scout' was Santana, celebrating finals being over, having a beer with Artie on the south end.

"Isn't he that guy in the wheelchair?"

"Yes, why does that matter? That's shouldn't matter!" Rachel felt her umbrage growing.

"Calm yourself, Ms. Berry. If he's as good as you say, and he can get you to shut the hell up, great. And what's more…this screams National Endowment for the Arts funding for disabilities."

Of course, Artie was great, as billed. The cast respected him, immediately, his calm but firm demeanor inspiring. "Ain't Nothin' But a Thang" garnered Drama Desk Awards, Tony nominations – and it's brilliant young director brought home the Tony for Best Director.

Unfortunately, its emaciated star, once again, came home empty handed.

On the bright side, another Gleek joined them at the morning after breakfast. The owner of the Greasy Spoon joked he was going to put a "Rachel Berry lost here" plaque on the wall.

"Eh, Schwimmer. You actually did get robbed on this one. You should have won – but…"

J looked around meaningfully to Mike, Tina, Santana, Artie, and Kurt.

"…_They just don't like uppity women_. Bottom line: You were a bitch, you got the director fired. Rubbed people wrong. Remember, a woman didn't win for book and score until Cyndi Lauper in fucking 2013. 2013! W. T. and F."

She put a scoop of hash in her mouth.

"And eat a god damned French fry. I can see blood circulating in your veins, you're so thin. You're probably so bitchy 'cause you're hypoglycemic, Schwimmer. Plus it's making your nose look even bigger."

Santana leaned over to Kurt and whispered, "It's freaking me out a little bit – its as though Sue Sylvester joined our group."

"I heard that, plastic tits."

Santana scowled.

**NOMINATION FOUR: So You Think You Can Dance! Broadway**

The geeks were meeting at the 'Spoon, in their booth, that now actually **did** have a plaque put on it.

The usual suspects AND J were convened, including Santana, now a New Yorker again, quickly garnering a rep as a frightening prosecutor; and Amber, who scored a supporting role in a Jennifer Hudson vehicle, and her now-fiancée, Sam. Only three people knew that she scored this role against the casting director recommendations because of Rachel's influence and Santana's incredible ability to dig up dirt- on anyone. The third was Sam, who moved to New York with her, who instigated the glee-nepotism, coming to the two of them telling them of Amber's rejection after rejection with casting in L.A. and her bout with depression. Gleeks take care of their own.

The booth was definitely becoming more crowded.

Rachel looked expectantly at J.

"Well? Which one?"

Cassandra held two scripts in front of her, mulling thoughtfully.

"This one, is a no brainer. It's traditional Broadway. Classic. A nomination is a sure thing. Great score, great book. "

She leveled her eyes at Rachel.

"But the fact you aren't taking it outright, and asked me to consider this," she said pointing to the second script, "leads me to believe this is what you want to do."

"Well?"

"Well, I think this: you are a fantastic singer. You are a fantastic actress. You are an adequate dancer. You have some classical training, but not like the rest of the cast would have. You would be the weak link—not good for the lead actress. "

Rachel looked expectantly at Santana.

"Hey! Asian #1, back me up, here!" She said, looking at Mike.

"J is right, you would have to have a really patient – and skilled—choreographer."

"What the hell are _you_ doing, #1 son?" Cassandra snapped. "Can't you help a sister?"

"I just signed on for the new Rob Marshall project. I'm booked."

"There you go, Schwimmer. Broadway choreographers are assholes. No offense, Asian #1. They are. They aren't going to be patient with you and your limitations. The one nice guy is taken."

She forked her egg. "So, I say, Script #1. What do you think, counselor tits?"

Santana narrowed her eyes. She spoke deliberately. "I reviewed the contract and the funding. I don't like the tiered incentives they put in Rachel's contract. I think some of the investments are shaky, at best. Don't like #1, from a purely business/legal standpoint."

Mercedes spoke up. "Damn Rachel, do you pay an agent and a lawyer? If so, Why? You always have J and Santana do their work for free."

"Babe, Santana is a good hearted public servant, didn't you know that?"

"About that- I might be quitting and setting up as a junior partner downtown. I might. Like later this month."

"_Damn_." The group murmured.

"So while you peons can still afford my opinion, here it is: Rachel, she's right. You're a shitty dancer. But, with the right choreographer, who knows you, and knows how to hide your flaws, you can pull off #2, which is a much more stable venture. You just need the right person to guide you."

On cue, eight set of eye trained on Cassandra July, mouth full of bacon.

"Oh, HELL no! Not on your BEST day, Schwimmer, are you talking me into **_that!"_**

XOXO

The subsequent consolation breakfast at the Greasy Spoon was an interesting affair. Cassandra July's return to the great white way was met with cautious optimism. C.J. 2.0 was a much better version. Choreographers were allowed to be impatient, and rude; as long as they were good. Which she was. In fact, her temperament was almost an asset.

The only person who was spared her scathing tongue was the lead. She got dressed down, plenty – just not embarrassed. And never in public.

They came a long way, together.

In her acceptance speech for best chorographer, Cassandra was so effusive and thankful to Rachel; Finn questioned Rachel for weeks afterwards if she ever "tapped" that. Rachel stopped dignifying that question after awhile.

And of course, the actress from Script #1, did, in fact, win that year. Unfortunately, the curtains had already closed on the production by the time she won.

**NOMINATION FIVE: More, More, More!**

Rachel championed this little "alt rock opera" to every producer she knew. Even with the great Rachel Berry attached, there were too many unknowns for people to stomach.

"They'd rather do Disney Vomits – On Ice."

"Why do you care about this so much, Schwimmer? I mean, who the fuck is this guy? How do you know this shit's any good."?

"Because she **_knows_**. That's how." Santana said, evenly. J was in their group, but she wasn't ONE of them- not yet.

"What, is she the great and powerful Oz? She knows…give me a break. Rachel Berry "knowing" is not going to shit out $25 million out of the sky, Counselor."

"No, but Auntie Tana IS. A lot of people owe me favors. That's worth twenty."

"We threw in 750K," Said Tina, gesturing around the table. "Carmen Thibeadeaux donated 150K. Rachel threw in a mill, on her own, too."

"That brings you up to 22. You're short three."

"Bitchy AND a math whiz. I threw in two." Santana said.

"So, you're short one."

"We're working on it." Rachel said.

Cassandra leaned across the table, inking "ONE MILLION DOLLARS. –C.S. July"

She glared at Santana. "You're not the only one who is owed a favor or two, Tits."

Artie and Sam let out a whoop.

"God damn, you people bug me. Whoever this 'Noah Puckerman' guy is, he better be worth it, or I will rip out all of your eyeballs. Even yours, Cohen-Chang."

And that is how Puck rejoined the group.

XOXOXO

The table had gotten too small, so Puck and Finn one afternoon helped Mr. Muccino put a small 3 seasons sunroom in, and the booth was physically moved to the room, complete with the plaque. It was the table to have, when the Glee Pack wasn't consoling Rachel, that is. The owner would rope off the room the day following every Tony award ceremony.

The renovation was just in time for the group to celebrate their collective wins, as producers, for _More, More, More!_ As well as Puck's first win for book and score. The thing was a juggernaut, and became the little show that could. The investors easily doubled their return.

That was poor consolation the morning after. "Schwimmer, I got nothing for you. I don't know why you didn't win."

"Was she better?"

"Not on her**_ best_** day."

**NOMINATION SIX: 'Night, Mother.**

Rachel decided it was time to go back to a straight drama. Her throat was raw, and frankly, she was tired. She was ready to be a piece of a puzzle, and not the whole pie.

Creating a buzz was the fact she, once again, pulled a rabbit out of her hat demanding that her co-star for her mother BE her mother.

Shelby took a leave of absence from coaching Vocal Adrenaline, and packed her and Beth up for the run. She would ultimately extend that leave, because she won the Tony for Best Supporting Actress, and surprise surprise! She could sing.

She was immediately cast in a revival of Wicked opposite Kristen Chenoweth for a limited engagement, beating out her own daughter for the part.

"Rachel…Kristen is _not _a spring chicken. They needed someone…"

"OLD." Interjected Santana, chewing.

"Berry, you're my favorite Jew" Puck said. "You know that. But look, this keeps Beth in the city longer, and your mom, too."

"Rach..I'm so sorry you lost. Really. I don't understand…" Shelby grasped Rachel's hand and squeezed.

She loved working with Shelby, and was so grateful to have her around. She was about to realize how important that was, momentarily.

Cassandra interrupted her. "Holy shit. Lurch has arrived."

Finn entered the diner, sweaty and red.

"You are all KINDS of nasty, Finn. Ew!" Mercedes waved.

"Sorry." He said, out of breath. "I ran here. Rach, you have to come. Now. There's been … well, it's your dad."

Rachel bolted after Finn, she turned around to face the group. "Stay here. Eat. I'll let you know if I need you." She left rushing after her husband.

Shelby rose, and Santana pulled her back down. "That means you too, Johnny-Come-Lately. It's her dad- she'll let us know."

Shelby shook her head. "No, honey, its not that. My instincts are going nuts. Something tells me…Rachel needs me. Something tells me to follow her."

"Wow, Spider Senses." Said Artie, in awe.

"Shelby, Rachel hasn't needed anyone since she was two years old. She probably toilet trained herself." Puck said, matter of factly.

"I don't know…_something's_ …off."

XOXO

Rachel's emergency appendectomy caused her to miss her own father's Shiva. Rachel and Finn were tight lipped about what happened. Rachel had "fallen down their staircase" turning too quickly. It was the party line.

The gleeks couldn't help but notice the strain that developed between the two of them after, however. Things were never the same. Rachel never forgave Finn, for some reason, for not being able to say goodbye to her father.

When asked later by interviewers about which of her many losses were the worst, she said, without reservation, "Number six. Although I gained my mother, in a sense, I lost so much more. It's a bittersweet memory."

**NUMBER SEVEN: You Never Can Tell.**

Rachel needed easy. Light and Easy. This production was marshmallow fluff at its finest. A typical feel-good, Rom-Com, with Mike choreographing this time, and Tina as her best friend; and Kurt on wardrobe design. Puck even had a short run as the male lead while the real lead was out for paternity leave.

She didn't expect to win, and she didn't.

Kurt **did,** however, for his over the top designs. "Guess I learned more at Vogue than I did NYADA, huh?" he remarked.

Although it was simple, and even fun to come to work again, everything else was crap in her life. She and Finn were two strangers in the same house. Rarely did they have a kind word for the other.

"It's almost like Benny, and how he plays at day care." Commented Mercedes, referring to their toddler.

"What do you mean?" Artie asked.

"Well, its like how toddlers' play. You know, parallel play. They do activities and play next to each other – but never WITH each other."

"Well, Good Riddance to that deadweight, I say." J said, between bites. "Where's Mexican tits?"

"She mentioned picking someone up at the airport."

"Hmmm. Really? Who…_well_. Look who the cat dragged in."

The group looked, stunned, at the prim figure walking alongside Santana. Her suit was tightly pressed, almost to military crispness. Her horned rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, with a bun tightly quaffed not one hair out of place. The gravitas was not lost on the onlookers.

"Shit, losers. Haven't you ever seen a _professor_ before?" Santana guffawed.

"I…we…"

"Holy…"

"This brings 'hot for teacher' to a whole new level!"

"PUCK!"

Rachel ran in to the sunroom, bumping in to Santana and her guest.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry, ma'am!" Rachel said, to the stoic blonde. She looked to the group, quickly apologizing. "Guys, I'm sorry I was late, Finn and I had a miscommunication about the…wait. What's wrong with you guys? You look like you've seen a …"

She swiveled her head towards their gaze.

Santana grinned.

"Allow me to introduce to the group...the new Quantum Physics section chair at Columbia University, Dr. Brittany Pierce." Santana beamed with pride.

Brittany took off her glasses and started laughing.

"No…it's _Brittany_, bitch."

XOXOXO

"So, now, wait. What the fuck? You graduated _first in your class_ at MIT but had a D average at McKinley High… with these tools?" Said J, disbelievingly.

"I know, right?" Laughed Brittany.

It was an eventful breakfast. Brittany filled everyone in on her evaporated whereabouts; apparently, after graduating with honors, and then going to graduate school at MIT as well, she did some mysterious post-doc at Cold Springs Harbor; she then worked in Washington D.C. after but wouldn't elaborate on the specifics.

"Sorry I didn't call you guys. I wasn't really able to talk…to civilians."

She also confessed she didn't need glasses, but wore them to look smarter, since she wasn't Asian. Mike and Tina rolled their eyes. She was apparently also a Tony winner, having kicked in $7 million into Santana's kitty. Brittany had done very well for herself, having over 32 registered patents; and then, she decided she was through with it. She decided to work in academics for awhile, teaching math and physics. And maybe cheerleading. It was no coincidence that she landed in New York.

Shelby looked around the overflowing table. "Oh my god. It really is a New Directions reunion."

"Minus dipshit Finn," interjected Sanatana.

Shelby shot her a warning look.

"Yeah, about that. I don't think he'll be coming around anymore. We've…split." Rachel said, quietly.

"For good?" Puck clarified.

"Yes, Noah. For good."

Puck let out a whoop, and several members of the table stood up and high fived each other, Santana most enthuastically.

Rachel sat quietly. "Actually, we're missing someone…else. Someone important."

"Yeah, about that. Lord Tubbington sends his regrets. Something about 'once losers, always losers.'" Brittany confessed, whispering.

"No, not Lord Tubbington! Someone integral to the club, who defined us, in my mind-"

"Girl, I KNOW you aren't giving Mr. Shue that much credit. The only thing he defined was that he was an invertebrate, giving you all the solos!" Kurt laughed.

"Truth." Said Mercedes, giving him a fist bump.

"Guys, think! Ohmigod, really? **Quinn.** We're missing _Quinn_." Rachel said, voice almost inaudible.

A collective _Oh yeah! _ Fell over the group.

Cassandra July almost chocked on her bagel, mid bite. "What. The. Fuck. _**Are you telling me**_ that Her Royal Highness, Lucille, the Duchess of Cambridge is…is….

"None other than Lucy Quinn Fabray, card carrying gleek. Yep."

"What the hell goes on in Lima, Ohio?" Cassandra remarked.

"It is a little strange. In any other town, any of us would be the biggest thing going. But oh no, we lived with _her royal highness_. Who is definitely too good for us commoners." Santana said, bitterly.

Brittany explained to Cassandra, "this is a testy issue. She beat San out for head cheerleader, she nudged out Mike and Artie for valedictorian, and she had sex with Rachie, broke her heart, and left for England."

"**WHAT?**" A dozen pair of eye turned to Rachel.

"Oh my god. Didn't everyone already know that?" Brittany said. "Oops, I…did it again."

She started singing a few bars of the classic. It didn't cause the diversion Brittany hoped.

In fact, no one was talking. **_At all._**

"Have I mentioned I'm thinking about going to Hollywood next month? Disney called." Rachel said, with a wan smile.

**TBC!**


	3. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Duchess

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Various Hotties

**Rating: WARNING! **Yep, I went there. M/NC-17 ratings.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards, the British monarchy, Tony's or TMZ. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, and meant only for the well being and warm fuzziness it will inspire in Glee Femslashers everywhere. (Grandiose, much?)

**Summary: **Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N**: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. This is just a plot line that has allowed me to vent a few issues rolling around in my head that need personal airing out.

**CHAPTER TWO: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Duchess of Cambridge… **

Quinn smiled demurely while cameras flashed around her.

"Princess Lucielle! Over here!"

Flash.

"Your highness, how 'bout a smile?"

Flash.

"Are ye ready to be Queen?"

Flash.

Quinn handled it with a maturity and class that the British press hadn't expected. Despite their practiced cynicism, the reality was, they loved being surprised. She exceeded everyone's expectations, and had been a media hit since the day she landed. Quite frankly, they never expected to love her.

It wouldn't have been the first time the bar was set too low for Quinn in her life.

So now that she found herself in this frenzied swirl of attention at her unexpect ascent to the throne, the media loved this story. Fairybook princess from Nowhere, Ohio in America… was now destined to become Queen—it was so Hollywood.

It was unfortunate tragedy had set this stage.

It had been 18 months since her brother-in-law and his bride died in the plane crash. Quinn's husband, the prince, confided in Quinn that his brother had not _really_ passed his pilots license examination; his passing the exam was more of a wink wink, nudge nudge, as many things go with the very privileged.

Inclement weather struck, and the rest was history.

_Or should we say, history repeats itself_, mused Quinn.

Suddenly, the once previously unknown commoner from America was getting ready to take the stage on the grandest scale, in England. The fashion magazines and gossip rags alike twittered nonstop since the downing of the Cessena.

Could she do it? _Yes._ Had she won them over? **_Of course._**

She was hailed as "This Generation's Grace Kelly."

Her Royal Highness, Lucielle, former the Duchess of Cambridge, now the Princess, had unknowingly trained for this job throughout her entire childhood. Despite her degree from Yale, her selection as an Oxford Scholar, and her many other varied talents, Lucy Quinn Fabay ultimately fell into the family business: the profession of being a high society **_wife_**.

And she hated every second of it.

When the Queen was commenting to her how fabulously she had done at the Prince's Trust Event the past week, Quinn steeled her nerves. In her head, she thought, _That's because I don't give a fuckin' shit about it. Its easy to go through the motions if you have no emotional investment whatsoever._ Out loud, she said demurely,

"That's very kind of you to say. I feel I could have done better."

_Give them what they want, Fabray._

She smiled and waved at the onlookers, two of whom fainted from excitement.

XOXOXO

Quinn even acquiesced to her mandated duties as baby-mama of the Kings. Four times a month, while she was ovulating, she would grit her teeth, drink some wine, and let her husband put his sperm in her.

_Call me the incubator_, she thought.

She was successful within their first year of marriage, having a son with a head full of blonde hair, looking like a direct spud off Quinn and void of any royal blood whatsoever. _Thank God,_ thought Quinn. _At least he won't be ugly like his grandfather._

Everyone was in awe of the American royal. Once, one of the Prince's polo teammates, gazing a tad too longingly at HRH Lucielle, said to him, "God, your lady is soooo fucking hot. How do you not fanny about with her, all day?"

"Well, its not too hard, mate. She keeps the fanjeeta locked up tighter than Gringotts."

"Wha? You don't think she's a fanny basher, do ya?"

"Quinn?" He laughed bitterly. "I should think not. That implies she would like to have sex…with _anyone._ No, Quinn is just…so fucking perfect. I feel like a pervert every time I mount her. She makes us pray if I try to have more sex than-"

Turning red, he decided to stop that line of discussion.

Some things should remain private. Like the fact he was madly in love with a wife who could care less if he was alive or dead.

XOXOXO

Quinn ran in the direction of her screaming son. The one area that Quinn refused to follow the script on, was child rearing. Apparently, she was expected to pop out a kid and then turn them over to the Palace Staff to groom appropriately into the heir apparent.

Quinn would have none of that.

She gave up one child, she wasn't giving away another. She was decidedly hands-on, endearing her even more to the British Commonwealth. Rumor circulated that she even changed diapers with her own hands! Was there nothing Lucille could not do?

The crux of the controversy of her five year old's son mishagas, was that his tutor refused to let him watch a "girl's movie."

"Entirely inappropriate for a young man. He should be watching **_boy_** movies."

Quinn dismissed him firmly from his charge, instructing the tutor to dig up earthworms along the grounds of the building and return when he found 200 or more, for a suitable, "boy-like" activity.

He shot daggers from his eyes, and set off to do his charge.

Eyes twinkling, she looked at her son. "Well, lets pop in this controversial DVD and see what this deviant movie is all about. What's this rated? Rated G? Oh, ho! I can see the controversy already."

"Will you watch it with me, Mama?"

"Of course. Tell me about this banned and disturbing film."

"It's nice. It's about a boy who meets a girl and she becomes a Princess. Or she**_ is_** a princess. And then she becomes a frog. Then a princess again. I think. It's sort of like you and Daddy, mama, except this time, he's the commoner-er…"

The little boy blushed immediately.

Quinn laughed, and hugged him. "Honey, its fine. It's the truth. I _am_ a commoner. But that doesn't mean I'm common…very different things, honey."

"I love you, Mama. Now let's watch." He said, impatiently.

"Sounds great, sweetie. Now, why do you want to see this so much?"

"Mama, the princess…she's _pretty."_

Quinn looked down at his earnest eyes, and with a twinge of jealously, realized her young son had his_ very first crush_.

"Well let's have a look at her." Quinn said, lips tightening.

**XOXOXO**

All of the air had been sucked out of the playroom, because Quinn was certain she would die of suffocation.

The beautiful Princess?

Her son's first crush?

_Rachel Barbara Berry._

It must run in the genes. Quinn finally took a breath. Thank god she was watching it with a self-absorbed five year old, because anyone with a brain would know that Quinn's hyperventilation was not completely natural.

"You think she's pretty, too, huh Mama?"

_Scratch that_, she realized. _I'm totally transparent._

"You okay, Mama? Your hands are shaking."

"I probably just need to eat something, sweetie." Pulling her son into her lap, she finished. "Come sit on Mama's lap, and lets watch the rest of this thing—we'll see if she gets her Prince."

"I'm a Prince, Mama."

"I know that, dear."

"Oh, okay. Do you think Princess Gwen would like our place?" He said, looking around the playroom.

Quinn absentmindedly followed his gaze. "Probally not. It's … not what she's looking for."

"Oh. Okay. Can we make it what she's looking for?"

"I don't think so, son. But let's watch and see what happens."

**XOXOXO **

Mother and Son sat on the futon, weeping openly. The chambermaid, entering to announce dinner, burst out laughing.

"Dinner's rea- _what the_ -? A fine pair you two are! Blubbering away. What are you watching?"

"_The Princess and the Prince_. The Disney film."

"Oh, I looove that…I love that little Rachel Berry! Got a set of pipes on her, she does. She's up for an Academy Award, tonight, you know."

"What?" Quinn sat upright, tumbling the little prince off her lap. "When?"

"To-night." The servant said, peculiarly. "Isn't that sort of an American thing? Don't you pay attention to that anymore?"

"Obviously not. Damn! I didn't even know she was in a movie!"

"One pound in the swear jar, Mama!"

Quinn scrolled through her iphone. "It is tonight! I'm going to have to stay up till one am, damn-it-to-hell!"

"Two pounds."

She called her assistant. "Becky! Clear my calendar for tomorrow morning… and afternoon. I'm going to be up late tonight. Thanks." She looked at her son. "I love you, baby. Go pee and wash your hands before supper. Mama has to go get her laptop."

Quinn absent mindedly raced from the room, leaving her son and the maid behind. "What's got into her?" She asked.

"I don't know…but she owes me three pound!"

**XOXOXO **

Quinn skipped dinner, raising a few eyebrows. In fifty short minutes, she caught up on all things Rachel Berry, including, to her satisfaction, her separation and divorce from Finn Hudson.

_That Git,_ thought Quinn. _He managed to fuck up the only good thing about himself- his wife._

Quinn had tried to distance herself from all things American; her husband thought it was to immerse herself in this incredibly demanding lifestyle and avoid distraction. However, the truth was, Quinn knew it was all or nothing, like heroin. She wouldn't be able to handle even one little reminder…one taste of Rachel. It would be too painful, and then she'd be consumed, again. So she cut everyone off that could be a potential reminder, even her dear friends, Santana and Brit. It was the only way.

Clear boundaries, she pledged. And she stuck to it, and maintained those walls, and was successful. It wasn't a passionate life, but it was okay. She hated most of it, but she functioned. She recognized that most people would kill for her life, which was ironic. Quinn functioned, immersing herself in becoming Lucille of Cambridge, and it worked.

Until today.

Becky, Quinn's haggard assistant, entered her study calmly, bringing a tray of dinner.

"So…I hear we're quite the Oscar fan, are we?"

"Sort of."

"You alright, Quinn?"

"I don't know."

Becky chewed her lip. She wasn't use to this much…**emotion**…emoting off of Quinn all at once.

"Ma'am, you're..um. You're scaring me a little bit. You're not having a nervous breakdown, are you?"

Quinn laughed. "I don't know, Becky. Maybe."

"Want me to ring the doctor?"

"What? No! God. No…Becky, I want you to get some snacks and get ready to watch the 92nd or whatever annual Academy Awards with me. Can you?"

Becky was stunned, but she wasn't going to miss **_this_** Quinn for a million bucks.

"Of course, ma'am. Popcorn and Swedish Fish?"

"And Bacon Pizza, please." She grinned.

XOXOXO

"Look. There she is…. Oh my god, that dress…she's **_still _**so beautiful."

"Still? You know her, Lucielle?"

"What?" Quinn said, in a daze.

"How do you know her? Did you see her on Broadway or something? I did! I saw her when she did that _More More More_. She was great. A little thing, she is!"

"I know." Quinn said far away.

Becky looked at her expectantly and Quinn continued. "No, I didn't see her on Broadway, although I should have. I was …too stubborn."

There was silence. Becky, however, was not going to let this go.

"So, where did you see her? A charity party?"

"No…no, nothing like that. Rachel and I …we're…we…."

Now Becky was getting alarmed. Quinn was at a loss for words. She finally cleared her throat. "Actually, Becky, I was the maid of honor at her wedding."

"**_Whaaa_**?! Get out of here. "

The two women were silent.

Calculating something deeper lying beneath the hazel eyes of her boss, Becky tactfully decided to lighten the mood.

"Well, she could have returned the favor!" Becky said slowly. "It would have been nice to have her at the palace. She would have looked a lot better than that pregnant Lady Kate! Imagine, Rachel Berry at the palace. Huh."

She looked over at her boss, who was lost in her own thoughts. _I wish I knew was Lucielle was thinking right now_, thought Becky.

Thank god Becky _wasn't _privy to those thoughts. The beautiful royal's current line of thinking would have set a new bar for Becky 's sense of "alarmed."

**XOXOXO**

"Ohhh…**_.fuck_**! Oh, God Rachel_, Oh God_, just **fuck **me. Fuck me!"

A bead of sweat ran down Quinn's temple, and her muscles strained as she thrust her pelvis harder into Rachel's attentive mouth.

Their bodies were naked, sweaty, and intertwined in one another's in Rachel's room. This wasn't the first time they had been together, but it was definitely the first time it was so …._heated._

Rachel's parents were away for three days, and the two women knew what they were doing when Rachel invited Quinn over to "hang out."

There would be no brakes, no premature closure, nothing to stop them…this time.

Quinn's fisted hand was gripping Rachel's chestnut hair in a death grip, and Rachel moaned with the taste of Quinn, ripe and opening up to her.

"You taste fucking _amazing,_ Quinn."

"DON'T take your mouth off me, Rach, please! I need this…oh god, I _need _you." Quinn guided Rachel's head forcefully back to the center of her core, pleading.

"Rachel, I need your mouth **on** me. _In_ me…"

Rachel flipped her head up, looking at Quinn from between her legs. "I love a desperate Quinn…its so …_hot_." She then leaned down, pressing her face between the blonde's muscular legs. Rachel moaned, as she flicked her tongue back and forth across the hood of Quinn's clit.

Each swipe caused Quinn to fasciculate with a shudder. She threw her arms to her side in frustration, balling up her fists on the sheet.

"Please..._please_…"

"Please what? Please fill you?" Rachel taunted.

She set a deliberate swipe down the center of Quinn, where the opening was moist, to the point of dripping. Rachel smirked, taking her fingertip and swirling the moisture around, in lazy, circular patterns around her opening.

It was almost as though she was painting.

Rachel leaned up, hovering above Quinn, dragging her delicious breasts deliberately across the surface of the quivering blonde's body. Quinn groaned in agony.

Rachel stopped her ascent when she arrived at Quinn's breasts. She grasped onto her left nipple with her mouth, sucking, massaging, then sucking again. Quinn squirmed. Her nipples were roughened and erect, and she strained to get them further into Rachel's teasing mouth.

Rachel switched to the other side, ministering to the other breast, while dipping her finger in to Quinn's hole, lubricating the tips of her finger, then rubbing down…until she could feel the little forshette that was below Quinn's vagina.

Feeling Rachel's fingers travel somewhere unexpected, Quinn startled. "What…what are you doing, Rach?"

"You want me to fill you, don't you?" Rachel husked, rubbing tight circles around Quinn's anus. "You're wound so tight, I know your type. _You want this._ You want me to fill **every **part of you." She said dramatically, kissing Quinn hard, on the mouth.

Quinn groaned, and pulled Rachel closer.

"It's dirty. It's nasty. Who would ever think you would be so nasty…? And you know what? You're _so wet_, Quinn. You _want_ me to do this to you."

Quinn felt herself getting wetter, if that was even possible.

Rachel reached over, pulling a small silver bullet-looking thing from her dresser. She pressed a button, and Quinn could hear a small quiet _hummmmmm…_

"What are you doing with thaa- **_ohhhh_**…my fucking _God_…." Rachel had pressed it against the tip of her clit. "Holy shit!"

"Indeed." Agreed Rachel.

Having doused her hand in the copious secretions of Quinn Fabray and her untouchable pussy, Rachel smiled wickedly. "Open your eyes, Quinn. I want you to see me when I do this to you. I want you to see **who** is filling you, _so deeply_…."

Rachel thrust her top two fingers in Quinn's opening while sliding her bottom two into the virginally tight pink forshette opening of her anus.

Rachel felt the tight pucker give way, and as she pushed past Quinn's inner ring, she felt Quinn shudder and give way.

Quinn was letting out choking noises, almost incoherently.

"_Ohhh,_ wow. You're so fucking_ tight_, Quinn. This feels so good, _penetrating_ you… Do you feel me, entering you, Quinn? Do you? That's me, fucking **_you,_** Quinn. Quinn, did you hear me?"

_No. Quinn has died._ She thought abstractly.

Rachel was methodic and relentless. She slid her hand in, and out, slowly entering her tender openings for the first few times.

It didn't take long for Quinn to get the hang of it, and relax to allow Rachel full access. Rachel gasped as she felt Quinn's pussyhole gape open, and Rachel added her thumb in, too…she started to twist into Quinn's opening as she entered her, sending of an entirely new wave of spasms through Quinn's body.

Quinn spread her legs wider, trying to give Rachel more access. Short moments after that, Rachel was jackhammering into Quinn, like it was her J-O-B. Quinn wondered abstractly if it was possible to die from something feeling so damn good.

"You're so fucking **tight….**" Rachel groaned. Her voice was lower than Quinn ever heard before.

Quinn's hips bucked upwards, towards Rachel's deliberate hand in her.

Rachel pushed the silver bullet harder against Quinn's swollen clit. "…but I feel you **opening up** for me, Quinn. You fucking need me to_ fill _you…don't you, Quinn Fabray?"

"_Ngggggh_." Was all Quinn could say. Quinn was reduced to making wild, guttural noises, losing all coherence and the ability to communicate.

It turned Rachel on, so friggin' much. Her nips were hard as rocks. She was doing this to Quinn…to _Quinn Fabray_. Naked. Lying beneath her, helpless. _Begging_ her, Rachel, to finish her. Quivering at her very touch.

So. Fucking. Hot.

And _powerfully_ addicting.

Rachel could feel the burn in her arm, which she ignored because she could also feel the need from between Quinn's legs. The feel of _Quinn's walls clenching against her fingers_…Quinn's walls trying to milk them...

Every time they had been together before, it was gentle kisses and light touches. Tender. Loving. It never predicted this…this raw, hard, nasty sex they were now having.

Quinn had _no idea_ Rachel would be such a dominant, wild woman in bed.

She had suspected how her body would react to Rachel, when and if they ever got to this point; but it had in no way prepared her for_ this. _This was a tidal wave of emotion and Quinn was sure she would drown.

The blonde involuntarily clenched hard at her opening, creating a vice-like seal around Rachel's fingers, one last time. "Oh, _Godddddd!"_ Wailed Quinn, bucking up and down on the bed. Rachel thought her wrist would snap in two. It was a swell of emotion, feeling, light, sound; it resulted in Quinn Fabray having her first **ever, ** bona-fide, **orgasm**. All courtesy of the immense talents of one Miss Rachel Barbara Berry.

Rachel would make Quinn come **four** more times that night.

After five rounds for Quinn, with some serious bed head, and a giggle in the air, she turned to Rachel. Eyes unfocused, Quinn grinned in her general direction. "I think we're going to have to wash your sheets, Miss Rachel Berry."

Rachel chortled.

_I love it when she laughs_, thought Quinn.

"Naah. We need to burn these sheets, actually. I don't think they'll be used again, after today." Rachel replied. They giggled.

Quinn, with tremendous effort, shifted on top of Rachel. Stroking her cheek gently, she fixed her hazel eyes on the girl underneath her.

"**Well**…not until we take care of something else… _first_."

She leaned down, giving Rachel a savory kiss, with a deliberate swipe of her tongue on Rachel's lower lip. Rachel involuntarily let out a small shiver.

"I believe I owe you a round ….or two."

"Or _five_." Rachel corrected.

Quinn grinned, shaking her head, and leaned in to kiss the girl she loved, who loved her back…in spite of …._everything._ Could life get better?

_It was almost like a real-life fairy tale_, Quinn thought to herself, pressing a kiss into Rachel, again.

**TBC!**


	4. Memories, I've Got A Few

Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Various Hotties

Rating: Oops…I did it again. Yep, I went there. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards, the British monarchy, Tony's or TMZ. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, and meant only for the well being and warm fuzziness it will inspire in Glee Femslashers everywhere. (Grandiose, much?)

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. This is just a plot line that has allowed me to vent a few issues rolling around in my head that need personal airing out.

**CHAPTER: Memories, I've got A Few…**

Mr. Muccino sighed. Pointing at Rachel, and Santana fondly, he said pseudo-gruffly, "If you two add anymore people to your knights of the round table, especially famous people, I'm going to have to get a different place!"

He gestured to the line outside waiting for tables that wound around the corner. Pushing through that line, presently, was a familiar young man with a tartan scarf and bright smile.

"Sorry I'm late, guys!"

Blaine gave a peck to Rachel's cheek and a firm pat on the back to Santana.

"Hey Kid! You famous?"

"Me? No. I'm just a teacher."

"Thank God!"

As he turned to walk away, an older woman stood up and said to Blaine, "Young man—are you that fellow on the commercials about arts in the schools? That is so important…I wrote a letter to the our senators after I saw it!"

Mr. Muccino turned around, glaring at Blane, and then focused on Rachel.

"**Mingya!** Rachel, you're lucky I like you."

"Well," Interjected Santana dryly, "if it helps, he's not all _that_ famous. That spot airs only only on public television and the family channels."

Turning on the Latina, he said, "And you're only in my good graces, Attorney, because you saved my lease, otherwise I _really_ wouldn't like **you**…although your blonde friend is an angel, unlike those other centerfolds you hang around with."

Santana gave him the fongool, and they both smiled.

Blane, still blushing, shuffled off to join Kurt and the others at the table. They distantly heard Kurt doing perfunctory introductions to the folks at the table, that didn't know him already, stating "this is my peace corps, not-for-profit loving, teacher husband, Blaine, back from his latest tour overseas."

The two women conspiratorially pulled off the owner to the corner.

In low tones, Santana said to him, "you know the travel agency upstairs?"

"Yes?" He replied warily.

"The owner might have a small gambling problem."

"And a small drinking problem."

Rachel nodded, agreeing with Mr. Muccino.

"And a real asshole problem." Santana finished. "However, we might have made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

His eyes widened. "Bags of lime and some shovels?"

Rachel laughed, merrily. "We're a bunch of singers who are very non-violent, except Santana, who although she is gifted vocally, does have the prolicivility toward violence now and again-

"Shut it, Berry!" Interrupted the lawyer. "Anyhoo, his debts _might_ have been covered. And those folks he was in debt to _might_ have been folks one doesn't want to piss off… However, in exchange, there _might_ be a certain expectation in return."

"And what might those expectations be?"

"That he sell you the real estate part and parcel for $10.78 by next week."

He leaned against the wall in disbelief.

"What? I've tried to lease that spot…do you…do you know how much its worth? How did you-"?

Rachel said quietly, "We told you the how, already. That story is never to be repeated, ever. Especially if Santana runs for Attorney General in the next few years, when she gets bored making jillions of dollars a year."

"But, why….why $10.78? What a random figure!"

"It's not so random, Mr. Muccino. Think! $10.78 was our tab, the first time we ate here my freshman year, Santana and I; and we realized we didn't have enough money to pay you. And you said…"

Smiling, he said, "I remember. I said, 'pay me back someday, when you're rich and famous.' I can't believe it."

"That wasn't the last time you wouldn't let us pay you."

Embarrassed, he asked, "What do you want in exchange?"

Santana morphed into her scary prosecutor stance. "Our terms are simple. First, you will continue to rope off our table, in the hopes that Rachel will actually win a Tony Award someday before the three of us die; Second, you will raise your prices to reflect the cost of inflation so that you and your wife might actually retire someday; and third, you must ensure your breakfast frittata never sucks, ever. At least, not while I'm eating it."

His eyes twinkled. "_Figurati!"_

XOXOXO

Shelby and J were listening to Brit retell stories about high school, and the slushie facials that she endured at the hands of the Cheerios.

"Schwimmer, what is wrong with you? And then you lived with this one?" She said, gesturing at Santana.

Santana promptly flipped her off. "I've apologized to the midget, and then some. I wasn't the worst. That title falls to our HBIC herself, the Queen Majesty. She was the real bitch."

Shelby said tightly, "Santana, that's my daughters' birth mother."

"Who was the biggest bitch of all, to Rachel? To all of McKinley, actually."

"She wasn't a bitch to me." Mercedes interjected.

"Wheezy, no one's talking to you."

"She could be a bitch, but that was just a front. She wasn't bad." Puck said.

"Puck's right." Rachel added quietly. "Once you got to know her, there really was so much more to her than people realized…"

"Are you people nuts? This is Quinn Fabray we're talking about." Santana was getting angry.

"You're alleged best friend in high school, Santana." Kurt reminded.

"Brittany was my best friend."

"…And Quinn. She was just the non-sexy times best friend version." Brit interjected.

Santana rubbed her temples. "That woman is ice. She is incapable of loving anyone, or anything."

Brittany frowned. "That's not true. She loved Rachel."

All eyes turned towards the singer.

"Um…have I mentioned we finished shooting the sequel and I'll be back for good next week?"

XOXOXO

Quinn Fabray was so fucking aroused.

Out of all the times they had been the past few months, this was the penultimate. She had picked out the largest, thickest strap on they could find in the store, and she was poised now, at the opening of Rachel, legs spread, beneath her; she was getting ready to penetrate the girl beneath her.

"Quinn?" She said neverviously. "Do you think we should use some, you know, lubrication, or something?"

Quinn leaned over Rachel, husking in her ear, "You don't think my eating you out for a half an hour and the fact you're dripping wet is lubrication enough?"

Rachel flushed. "It's just that, well, when I do this with Finn, you know, we have to … well, use a little lube."

Quinn's hazel eyes flashed hot red.

"That's because he's as dumb as a stick and knows about as much about female anatomy as he does Physics – which he flunked."

"Quinn, this isn't about Finn, per se…"

"Oh, isn't it?" She said, angrily, as she thrust her pelvis forward, entering Rachel's wet opening and sliding in to the hilt in her first thrust, hard.

"**_Ohmygod!"_** Exclaimed Rachel. "Oh, God, Quinn!"

Quinn withdrew to the tip, and looking down, predatorily towards Rachel, thrust into her, hard, again.

When sheathed, fully in Rachel, the vibrator in the dildo thrumming against her clit, Quinn choked out, "Remember when we bought this, Rachel?"

Rachel's eyes were rolling to the back of her head. Attempting to focus, she said, "Yes."

Quinn withdrew again, and with another hard thrust, filled Rachel again to the hilt.

Her voice a little unsteady with the pleasure sensations herself, remarked, "You said, '_absolutely not, Quinn. That's much too large. It's bigger than anything I've had.' _Remember?"

"Yes, Quinn." Rachel groaned.

Quinn sucked her pebbled nipples for a brief second while deep inside her, then looked up, withdrew, and began jackhammering her with hard, deliberate thrusts. Rachel's pussy was so wet; it was making sloshing noises as Quinn pistoned in and out with fury. She gripped Rachel's shoulders tightly, to give her additional leverage as she continued to pound her.

"Oh, God, Quinn, please don't stop!"

Quinn grabbed Rachel's thighs, pulling her forward and tilting her pelvis upward. It changed the angle of her thrusts, to hit Rachel deeper; in her rough cavern. Rachel went crazy.

"Oh. God. Quinn! Don't stop fucking me…don't stop…"

"With what, Rachel? What am I fucking you with?"

"Your big dick. Fuck me with your big dick."

"Ask me to fuck your pussy hole." Quinn said, straining to push deep.

She thrust harder.

"Oh, God! Ungh….God. Quinn, fuck my pussy hole, please! Fuck it…fuck **me**."

Quinn redoubled her efforts; sweat beginning to trickle down her thighs. She heard Rachel's breaths coming together closer, and closer, until.

"OH GOD! FUCK! Quinn! Oh, God, I'm coming...Ohhhhh!"

Rachel shuddered underneath her. Quinn rested, inside her, putting all of her weight on top.

"Unghf. God…"

Quinn slowly withdrew the dildo, still vibrating, and pulled it off. She turned to look at Rachel.

Rachel smiled lazily at Quinn. She gently raised her hand to touch Quinn's cheekbone, grazing its outline. Eyes unfocused, she said, "you're still the prettiest girl I've ever seen, Quinn."

And then she passed out, asleep.

Quinn lay on her back, gazing at the ceiling, with a smile of smug satisfaction on her face. She had fucked Rachel Berry unconscious.

_Finn Hudson could put that in his pipe and smoke it_, she thought.

XOXOXO

Rachel remembered when she told him Quinn would be coming to stay with her at NYATA once she finished finals, since Yale finished so much earlier, and stay while she finished dress rehearsals and help her move into her new place.

"But why, Rachel?"

"Because, Finn, I can't do it myself."

"Isn't there anyone else who can help you?"

"We'll let's see. You're away at ROTC advanced camp all summer, Santana's doing her pre-law clerkship in Albany, Kurt and Blane just moved into together and are they themselves settling in, so um…no. There's no one else."

"I don't like it."

"Look Finn, she has the time before Oxford, I could use the help, I'm short two roommates, and she offered. What's the problem?"

"Ever since you two got back from visiting Lima over spring break, you've been weird."

"Weird, how?" Rachel asked, nervously.

"Weird like, you don't talk to anyone else when you two are around each other. You're joined at the hip. And all you do is focus on her when she's around, now."

"Finn, you're **not **around, I don't know how you can possibly say that."

"I don't like the way she looks at me. I don't like the way she hogs your attention."

"Finn, I don't see how that –

"Look, you asked, alright?" He interrupted. "And what I really mean, " he continued with a sigh, "is I don't' like how YOU act, when she's around. You act like she's the only person alive. The only time I hear you laugh, or happy, is when she's around. Its not fair."

_Rachel Berry is not fair to Finn Hudson,_ thought Rachel_. If only he knew how true that statement really is…_

**_TBC._**


	5. Chapter 5

Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Brit-Brit

Rating: Intermittent M/NC-17 ratings. Today, mostly PG, however.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards, the British monarchy, Tony's, the imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccina, New York, Boston, or TMZ. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, and meant only for the well being and warm fuzziness it will inspire in Glee Femslashers everywhere. (Grandiose, much?)

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: A special authors' note, One of which is, to anon: While I'm all 'bouts the constructive criticism, criticizing the authors' notes? Really? WTF, have you never read anything tongue in cheek before? Clearly I don't take myself seriously. But this pissed me off… Sorry, delicate flower, sorry you don't like my notes. But guest what? Posting anon has all the integrity of a 2nd grader throwing a spitball at the blackboard while the teacher is turned around. Grow a pair, register, (or don't post), you cowardly chickenshit. If you're going to insult me, to it to my fake pseudonym face like the rest of us! (PS that's also tongue in cheek as well).

**CHAPTERNEXT: How To Shatter An Ice Princess**

"What is it, Berry?"

"I don't see why you're so threatened, Quinn. Finn might..might look at me, but we all know you're going to win Queen…"

Quinn turned her nose up, facing the mirror, attempting to reapply her makeup. She looked her practiced, disinterested self, except the small tell-tale muscles clenching around her jawline.

Unfortunately, Rachel did not chose to attend to the unspoken disclosure of Quinn's posturing. Instead, she barreled through her soloquily.

"Quinn…why, you're….you're the prettiest girl I've ever known…."

**_Slap!_**

The hand bearing the gardenia, the gardenia that Rachel suggested, came down, flush across Rachel's cheek.

They looked at each other, stunned.

Finally, Quinn spoke. "I'm…I…I'm sorry, Rachel. It's just, you wouldn't **stop**…."

"Wouldn't stop _what?_" She replied, hurt in her large brown eyes.

Quinn hung her head. This time, when she spoke, she spoke quietly. "You wouldn't stop being so….so _nice."_

Rachel looked puzzled. "What's wrong with nice?"

"Because…you make it impossible for me to hate you. I **_need _**to hate you."

"What? _Why_? "

That simple question sparked a verisimilitude of emotion across Quinn's tortured hazel eyes, while she stared at the smaller woman standing next to her. Without a word, she clasped her hands on both sides of Rachel's face, and drew her closer.

Rachel shivered, uncertain.

Rachel could feel Quinn's breath. Actually _feel _it…

Before she even registered it happening, Quinn's soft lips were pressing, softly, _passionately_, against hers.

Just as quickly as it happened, Quinn withdrew, a pained looked on her face. She looked at the diva intently, and backed away slightly, but did not remove her hands. Rachel took a breath. She closed her eyes, trying to avoid those penetrating greys that were boring right through, all the way to her core of soul.

Rachel shuddered, visibly.

Quinn looked at the girl, nerviously, but then Rachel wrapped her arms around Quinn's waist and drew Quinn flush to her body. Quinn gasped at the touch, as though shocked. It felt _electric_.

"I feel it too, Quinn." Rachel husked.

Quinn looked at Rachel, searching her eyes…for what? A look of pain flickered across her face, and then she leaned down towards the bruniette, with resolve. Quinn kissed her, kissed her_ harder_. She put her mouth on her desperately, as though she knew, instinctively, this time would be her last. She made it count. Lips urging; tongue probing; Quinn flicked her tongue across Rachel's lip and she let out an involuntarily silent gasp. That was all she needed in order to penetrate Rachel… to enter her mouth.

Rachel shuddered. _This should not feel so damn good! This woman was your mortal enemy ten minutes ago…at least, I thought she was…. _

Then, Rachel deepened the kiss.

They kept on like that, pressing closer, kissing deeply, for a solid ten minutes. Ten minutes of Heaven…until they heard foot steps entering the senior bathroom, and the entrance of Santana Lopez.

"Q? Q? What to the actual fuck, Fabray? They've been trying to announce the Court for the last five minutes – where have you be….**_Berry?"_**

The look on Santana Lopez' face was priceless.

The sarcasm was literally startled right off of her face. Smoothing her dress, Rachel calmly replied, "Yes, Santana?"

"What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On?" Santana looked like her head would pop off.

"None of your fucking business, Lopez." Snapped Quinn.

"Well, Santana, actually…um…Quinn slapped me. **Hard**. I cried. She then felt bad, gave me a Kleenex, did a crappy job of apologizing- to which I actually don't think she said the words "I'm sorry I hit you, more like, Oh! I'm sorry your cheek ran into my hand…"

"Quit the fucking RainMan shit, Hobbit. Fast forward to the touching I just saw."

"Oh that! I suggested that the only way to express you're sorry is to hug the person, and _sincerely_ say youre sorry."

Quinn, grateful for Rachel's quick thinking, said, "I hugged you. But I'm not going to say I'm sorry, because I'm not!"

"Quinn Fabray, you are absolutely insufferable! You'll never change!" And she stormed off in an actual diva huff, well oiled and practiced. Santana's head was bobbing towards where the two of them had stood, in muted disbelief. , still in shock.

Quinn did win that night, and even let a small smile graze her face when a low voice whispered in her ear while she was dancing. "Still the prettiest girl I've ever seen…"

XOXOX

Quinn allowed herself to get closer to Rachel, bit by bit; but they never EVER mentioned that night or the kisse(es).

_That didn't stop it from happening about once a quarter, out of the blue, though, _mused Rachel_. _For her part, Quinn did an amazing job of compartmentalizing, however. She never really attempted to analyze what the draw towards Rachel actually meant.

_You don't ask the question, if you don't want the answer…_

One time, in a hidden closet, while both respective boyfriends roamed the party looking for their vanished girlfriends.

Quinn whispered a deep, "You melt me, Rachel…"

"I hope that never changes."

"It won't. Believe it."

**XOXOXO **

"Get that awful rag out of here!" Bellowed the Queen, gesticulating towards the flustered staff. A thousand hands went to honor the Queens' request. One heard the sound of a breaking lantern.

"Ah, well, serves them right. Shouldn't spend so much time screwing around.'

The Queen signed at looked at Quinn. She shook her head as she read the headlines for the umpteenth time:

**_Benedict Harry Arnold caught cheating!_**

**_Hand in the cookie jar._**

**_Quinn 2.0! Quinn 3.0! Quinn infinity!_**

No less than twenty girls had come forward, and had been proven to all be telling the truth. A few debauched pictures told a thousand stories.

"When did he become a sex maniac, Quinn?"

"Oh, well. I don't know. When I stopped having sex with him, I guess?"

There was a brief pregnant pause that passed between them as she absorbed that piece of information. The Queen spoke, gently. "What are you going to do, Quinn dear?"

The blonde sighed, and looked at the wan older woman in front of her. "I think I'm going to go to America for a bit. Clear my head."

"And see the person you're _actually_ in love with?"

Quinn choked on her tea. "What?"

"Quinn, I may be old, but I'm not blind. You've had one foot out the door the minute you set foot in it; tragic really. You're the only wife I've ever actually liked."

Quinn smiled devilishly. "Would it be wrong to request **you** in the divorce agreement?"

"Well, technically, yes. Trust me, I wouldn't be opposed. I'll miss you, Quinn."

Quinn's expression saddened. "I'll miss you, too. But I have to say it-I hated all the crap you made me go to, though."

"I know."

"But, I loved doing it with you."

"I know that as well."

"Okay, Yoda. Can I have a moment here, please?"

"Are you implying I'm short, green, and 950 years old?"

"No. But I am suggesting you are, in fact, a muppet."

They both laughed.

"In all seriousness, I wish I could take you _and_ my son both. You're the only family I have." She hugged the shorter woman tightly.

"We'll still be family. Stiff upper lip, Quinn. Call me when you need me. You'll remain, in my mind, my… daughter."

Quinn exited the room, straightening her shoulders, leaving the closest thing to a role-model and mother she had ever experienced, behind as she left.

Sighing, she called her assistant. "Becks? Please make the arrangements for the morning. Two one way tickets. New York City. Thank you- for everything."

And she hung up the phone, and headed upstairs to pack her son and herself, and depart the only life she had known for the past many years. A peaceful, quiet life; a life free of Rachel Berry.

XOXO


	6. Meet And Greet

Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Brit-Brit

Rating: Intermittent M/NC-17 ratings. Today, mostly PG, however.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards, the British monarchy, The Tony Awards, the imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccina, New York, Boston, or TMZ. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for good ol' non-profit (damnit) femslash fun!

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: Thank you for the really kind reviews, and the valid critiques-! I've done some rewrites as a result, and frankly, I wish I had thought of one of the suggestions myself! (you know who you are). Please, keep it coming. Great feedback, I appreciate it. **Tear**

**CHAPTERNEXT: Meet and Greet**

"But Granny, you didn't even try to stop her from taking him!"

She arched her eyebrow. "And why would I do that?"

He spluttered. "Because…because, he's next in line!"

"Well, then I hope Quinn will do her best job raising him. And you will pull your head out of your royal fourth point of contact and try to be as much of an influence in his life as possible, despite the distance."

"But he'll…be American! He'll think _football_ is a game you throw a ball in the air!"

"And, hopefully, he'll be a good and decent human being. My God, if that's your _biggest_ objection, Quinn should have left long ago."

"Why…why did you choose her?" He asked, betrayed.

"I didn't choose Quinn…or you. I **_chose_** my great-grandson. As I see it, there is only, and has only been, one adult in your marriage. And frankly, it is not you. Children need love, but they also need stability. Period."

"This is about my brother, isn't it? You wish I was him!"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes," Said the Queen, gazing skyward. "Please, I beg you, stop making my decision so blatantly correct. I love you, boo-boo. However, you must please stop talking. Now."

XOXOXOX

Puck's knee bounced up and down, nervously.

"For**_ fucks'_** sake, Puckerman. Are you actually biting your nails?" Barked Santana.

"And good morning to you, too. Satan. Did Brittany not put out last night?"

She flipped him off.

"I TOLD you, we're not together. Brittany is my best friend."

"No bumping uglies?" Artie asked.

"No, Mr. sloppy seconds. No bumping uglies. _Why the fuck_ do you people think I can't have a platonic relationship with a beautiful woman?"

"Because you're Santana Lopez." Chorused the entire table.

Santana chuckled. "Damn straight. Er, gaily forward."

Just then, Puck's knee bumped the table, spilling Mike's coffee on Mercedes. "Oh, hell to the no, Puck! Get it together!"

Attempting to make peace, Sam said, "Um. Wasn't Beth going to come join us this morning for breakfast?"

"Or did you wisely decide _not _to indoctrinate your teenager into the inappropriate language and content so soon?" Tina asked, looking at Shelby.

Shelby had an odd look. "Actually, Beth is babysitting this morning."

"That's very industrious of her, working already! I'm glad she gets her work ethic from_ our_ side of the family, Shelby." Rachel commented, looking meaningfully at Puck.

"Hey!" Puck exclaimed.

Rachel smiled at him. Puck smiled back, and but then turned to glance towards the door.

Santana leaned over, and whispered to J, "_WTF _is up with Jumpy Jumpster McMohawk?"

"He's looking for his parole officer," J retorted.

Santana chucked.

Conspiratorially, she leaned closer. "So, Santana, are you _really_ not dating Brittany?"

Santana arched her eyebrow. "Who wants to know?"

"Puck's parole officer."

Santana chuckled again, but took the opportunity to slide just _that much closer…._

Rachel averted her eyes, and tried to pretend she didn't notice this foreplay going on. But after a few moments, she burst.

"Listen, you two," She hissed quietly so only they could hear, "this is a**_ bad_** idea. A very BAD idea." Gesturing between the two of them, she continued. "It would create a vortex of evil so profound, the universe could not withstand its creation. Entire planets and solar systems would be sucked up into the blackness. Life as we know it would cease to exist. So, no. I cannot let this-thing- happen, not on my watch."

They looked at her, unblinking. Then,

"..She talks a lot," observed J.

"I know, I _know!_ I keep looking for the strings, but I can't find her ventriloquist anywhere."

"Hmm. Probably battery powered. Blue tooth."

"Highly likely, legs. Highly likely." Santana's hand alighted on the blonde's knee.

Rachel's head, ready to implode, attempted to look away and create a visual tunnel as to not have to observe said hand movement, and any continued travels it might make. Muttering, she turned away from her friends, only to see Puck's nervous expression as he followed the entrance of a new guest through the front entrance…

All of the air left Rachel's lungs as she registered what was in Puck's line of sight.

**No.**

_No way._

No _fucking_ way.

"_What is she doing here_, Puck?" Hissed Rachel.

"I invited her, that's what, Rachel."

She glared daggers at him.

"I seconded the invitation, as well, Rachel." Said Shelby, firmly.

Quinn approached the table nervously. Silence fell, across what felt like the entire restaurant. A small buzz of chatter could be heard, with bits and pieces of "_is that her_?" and "_she's even prettier in real life_" and "_oh, that poor darling_!" and various adjectives, such as "majestic" and "hot" peppering the air.

Rachel was speechless. Betrayed. Speechless _and_ betrayed.

"_Et tu, Brutus_?" She said to Shelby.

Shelby rolled her eyes. "Rachel, stop. Beth wanted to see her. I _wanted _Beth to see her... And if you were even one iota of self-awareness, you'd realize **you** wanted to see her, as well. Grow up, Rachel."

Rachel sucked in a breath.

"Damn," Mercedes whispered under her breath. "Harsh." Louder, she said, "Hey Quinnie, girl. Its good to see you."

"thanks, Cedes. You as well." Quinn said, politely.

"You have an English accent now, Quinn!" Mike chuckled.

"It's an occupational risk." She replied.

"What, of putting an English _dick_ into your hole for years?" Rachel spat.

Quinn's eyes flickered.

The table hushed.

"Well, **_no_**, that's not how that works. Otherwise, you'd be dumb as a doorknob by now, with what's entered your twat, now, _wouldn't you_, Rachel?" Quinn said, bitingly.

"Hey, don't fucking talk to the Hobbit like that, biay-tch!" Santana snapped to her feet. "This is her 'hood, **_you're _**the one comin' round."

"Oh, wow. You're_ soooo_ street, Miss Harvard-Educated, Miss Daddy-Is-A- Cardiothoracic Surgeon, Miss I-had-a-junior-cotillion. _Please_. Don't scare me with your street smarts."

A few sniggers erupted around the table, which were quickly silenced by instantaneous Satan glares.

Just as quickly as she lashed out, Quinn reeled in, utilizing every bit of her practiced efforts in looking _royal._ "Look, everyone, I can see this…this is not a good time. It was nice to see you all, perhaps, sometime soon I'll see you again, under more welcome circumstances."

Everyone was shocked at the venom that could come next.

"I **don't think so,** _Quinn_, your highness… this is MY house. I built it. ** I**, Rachel Berry, put_ everyone_ here at this table, Quinn, by being a friend to them when they needed one at a critical time in their life. Something YOU wouldn't know the first thing about! These people owe me," she said, gesturing around the table, "not y_ou_, Quinn. Not because they are afraid of me, but because I am their _friend._ Unlike you. You, Quinn, are good at one thing only – taking care of _Quinn Fabray_."

Quinn had a strangled expression, as she nodded her head, and turned to leave. Everyone at the table felt varying levels of guilt, and Puck said, "Wait, Q! Do you need someone to drive you?"

"No thanks Puck. We have a driver."

"_We_?" Bit Rachel.

As if on cue, bursting through the door was none other than _the little prince_ himself.

"Mama! **Mama!** Did you find her? _Did you find Princess Gwen_?"

XOXOXOXO

The quarterly kisses from high school graduated into something slightly more advanced in college.

Quinn acted like it was perfectly normal to sleep naked and spoon your good pal…wake up in the morning wrapped up in each other, and lay for hours, stroking their hair, gazing into their eyes, and talking about…life.

She tried, God knows she tried, engaging with the opposite sex in college, but she would wake up in the morning feeling all kinds of dirty, and vile…and couldn't shake the feeling of…infidelity. So she stopped, and counted the days until her next visit to New York or visitation in New Haven. Her roommate affectionately referred to those weekends as "the conjugal visits."

But that would be CRAZY, wouldn't it?

Surprisingly, Rachel didn't push. Which was so anti-Rachel it was odd. So Quinn had to ask.

"Rachel?"

"Mmm?" She said, almost drunkenly, running her hands through Quinn's hair.

"_Rach_- how come you don't , well, you know, administer a power point defining what our relationship is with a ten year projected trajectory?"

"Do you_ want_ me to administer a power point?"

"That's not what I asked."

"It _sounded_ like it."

"That's **not **what I asked!" Quinn snapped, setting her jaw.

Rachel giggled at Quinn's near pathological frustration.

"You think this is **_funny_**, Berry?"

"A little."

"_What_? What the** hell **is so funny?" Quinn was starting to seethe.

"Well…the fact you think we _need_ a power point at all to determine if we're in a relationship, is pretty funny."

"Oh really?"

Rachel then looked dead-serious into the former cheerleader's eyes, and hooked her foot under Quinn's leg, sliding her underneath Rachel, with Quinn's back flush on the bed. Rachel pressed herself against Quinn's naked body, eyes fixed on the hazel ones beneath her.

Quinn let out a small moan.

Rachel leaned maddeningly close to Quinn's mouth. She could feel Rachel's nipples scraping against her trunk deliberitly in the process. "**_Yes_**, I find it quite amusing, If you must know… that I can lay_ naked_, on top of you, making you unbelievably _wet_…so much so, that you'll drench my sheets tonight…and we haven't even had sex for the first time, even. Yet, you feel the need to determine _if we are in a relationship_? Hmm?" She leaned down, and nipped Quinn's right earlobe. She then whispered into her ear, "news flash Fabray….you're IN a relationship. _With me_. Alert Facebook: its MORE than complicated…"

And then she leaned down and kissed the blonde pinned underneath her with _such _passion, it left them both _breathless. _She slid her legs deliberately between Quinn's, weaving them expertly in-between Quinn's…so that they fit in an almost deliciously perpendicular angle. Rachel forced contacting between the most sensitive areas of their bodies, imaginable.

"Oh, God, Rachel," Quinn husked. "You feel so good, against me."

"Against your _pussy_, Quinn…**say it.** Say I'm touching your pussy."

Quinn had a moment of sheer terror which she swallowed in an attempt to control her gay panic. She steeled her nerves.

"You're touching my pussy, Rachel, with…._your _pussy. God, I can _feel_ you…"

Rachel punctuated the other's sentence with a firm thrust, scissoring her pelvis flush against the other's area, eliciting another strangled gasp.

_"And you want me." _Rachel said, firmly.

"Yes. I want you. So badly."

_XOXXOXO_

As if that arrival of the little prince wasn't enough, it was followed by a second entrance.

A tall, unmistakably beautiful young girl came barreling though the front door, breathless. "OHMIGOD, Quinn! _I'm so sorry! _I couldn't hang on to the little twit! He's slippery and kept demanding to see some lady called 'Gwen!' WTF?"

She grabbed him by the collar and he burst out, "Hey! Let go of me!"

"No!" Hissed Beth. "Only when you can prove you can be trusted! Which at this rate, between _this_ and breaking Mr. Berry's bagpipes, won't be until 2025!"

Rachel's' throat went dry.

"Daddy's bag pipes?" She said, quietly to Shelby.

Shelby looked immediately guilty, and Beth turned crimson. "Oh, God, Mom, I'm sorry – I wasn't supposed to say anything!" She said looking apologetically at Shelby.

"AWK-ward…." Whispered Artie.

"We had a little reunion, Beth, Quinn, Puck, and I, back in Lima. Earlier this week, so Fredrick could meet his grandparents, and to…meet Mr. Berry."

"Oh,**_ shit_**…I mean shoot!" Beth started.

"Dollar in the swear jar." Fredrick exclaimed.

"Wait, hang on…Rach, your dad gave me a letter to give to you." She pulled out a wadded envelope, complete with an old starburst welded to it side, half chewed. "Here."

She walked over to Rachel and gave it to her.

That's when the clouds parted…and the sun shone…Fredrick followed his half-sister to where she handed over the envelope, and his eyes widened.

"_Princess GWEN!"_ He whispered, reverently.

Rachel's eyes widened, with realization, and she steeled herself for the small locomotive that was barreling straight for her. Head on.

He stuck to her.

"_Princess Gwen!_ I found you!"

"Oh, no, no, little boy. You have me mistaken for someone else, I …. I get that a lot."

She looked around desperately, pleading for help. She was met with stony glares.

None more stony than the HBIC herself.

"Ahem. Allow me to introduce _my son._ This is Prince Fredrick. He's desperately in love with Princess Gwendolyn. He is under the childish notion that she's kind, sweet, and …stuff."

"…and _pretty_." He said, starstuck.

Kurt kicked Rachel's ankle from under the table.

"Ow! What the-?"

She glared at Kurt, who glared back.

"I'm sorry, little boy, _er,_ little Prince Fredrick…."

"Oh, you call me Freddie. Please." He was now grasping her around her midsection. She awkwardly returned the hug.

"I'm not…" Rachel looked up. Quinn was pleading with her eyes.

Rachel's expression changed. She frowned. Slowly, she lowered herself, crouching down to his eye level, and cast her brown eyes into his. With an obvious stage whisper, she said, "Shh! I'm in disguise!"

Equally loud, he replied, "Why?"

"I hear that the owner of this tavern is on the lookout for royalty."

"Why?"

"Because he has made something so delicious, that it is said to be fit only for Kings!"

"…and Queens." Fredrick replied, gravely. "But why are you hiding?"

"Um…because it is said to be so delicious, so delectable, that you can't eat just one. Or two, you eat until you POP!"

"Are you scared?"

"A little."

"Don't worry, Princess Gwen. I'll protect you."

As if on cue, Mr. Muccino came barreling around the corner.

"PRINCESS GWENDOLYN! You cannot hide from me!" He bellowed.

Rachel squealed. She hid behind Friedricks small frame, who was attempting to puff up to block her, his jaw set.

"That is the cutest damn thing I have seen this week." J said.

"Softy." Snapped Santana.

"Oh, HO! What do we have here? I smell…more royalty!" he bellowed.

Freddy held out his hand. "Stop!"

"But someone must eat my creation, it is fit only for Kings!"

"…And Queens." The little boy responded.

"You go, Boy!" Blane cheered.

"SOMEONE will have to be responsible…."

"Leave my son, alone, Mister…what do you need done, here?" Quinn said, feigning alarm.

"BAH! _You?_ You are a _commoner!"_

"Hey! She may be, but …She's not common!" Fredrick shouted.

"Only kings. Or Queens."

The young man sighed. Turning around, he said with utter seriousness, "I love you, Princess Gwendolyn."

The table _awwwwwed._

"And my mom thinks you're pretty." As he dropped that bombshell, he turned to face the much larger man, determinedly. "Bring it on. I'm a future king. But leave her," pointing at Rachel, "alone!"

"I've found my future husband." Tina deadpanned.

"Hey!" Mike interjected.

"Little, little prince. You are no match for … Mount Muccino!" With a snap, his bus crew wheeled out a cart, that had on it…. _the largest Root Beer Float ever known to mankind._

"No WAY!" He sprinted towards the cart, grabbing the spoon from Mr. Muccino's hand, diving headfirst into the float.

Grinning from ear to ear , he winked at Rachel. The sheer velocity in which he shoveled mounds of frappe/jimmies/sticky goodness into his mouth was alarming. Mouth full, he exclaimed, "Mrgimph! I got it, mgrsifhcess Gwen!"

In all of the excitement, Quinn had used the distraction to saddle up to Mr. Muccino inconspicuously. Whispering, she said, "**_How_** did you know Root Beer Frappes are his favorite?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Ehh, customers leave their stupid magazines laying around. I get bored… I read. Everyone knows everything about that kid of yours. Besides, _its my job_ to acquire information, certain information…and I was curious."

" Curious? About what? What kind of information?" Quinn asked, amused.

"**_Key_** information. Mostly food related. It's my duty. I wanted to_ learn_ a little something about the last knight of the round table. You see, I've been waiting."

"Waiting? For what?"

"Waiting … for_ you_, Quinn Fabray. You took much longer than I expected to show up."

Quinn looked at him, startled.

He chuckled. "But, let's just say, I'm not setting your place….just yet."

Quinn glanced over at Rachel. She was glaring in their direction.

"Oh, brother." Quinn sighed.

"Indeed." He agreed.

**TBC.**


	7. You Make Your Choices

Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Brit-Brit

Rating: Intermittent M/NC-17 ratings. Today, mostly PG, however.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards, the British monarchy, The Tony Awards, the imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccina, New York, Boston, or TMZ. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for good ol' non-profit (damnit) femslash fun!

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: Yes, as Freddie would say, "no duh," I know that I would be served well by a Beta. I have control issues, a'ight? Thanks for the reviews I will make a feeble attempt at grammar spelling yada yada. This is NOT my day job. The fact I researched fun facts on Elizabeth II and even know her damn nickname has forced other more important facts out of my mind, like how to run a Milrinone drip. So stop demanding perfection! It ain't happening. (Small mental breakdown).

**CHAPTERNEXT: You Make Your Choices…**

Kiss.

"Come with me."

Kiss.

"I_ plan_ on coming with you."

Kiss.

"No, pervert, not like** that**. I mean, come with me to England…"

Nibble.

"England?"

Deeper kiss.

"Yes, England. Little peninsula like area? Home of Oxford University? Future home of the great literary talent, Ms. Lucy Quinn Fabray…"

Suck.

"Oh, that place. I've heard of it! Bad food."

Kiss.

"Who needs food when you have love…"

Pause.

"That's just corny, Quinn."

Blush.

"Well, you know, if the shoe fits…"

Giggle.

"How did you get a literary scholarship? I mean, my God, that is not even proper application of that analogy!"

Glare.

"…er….but it was cute. Who needs, grammar, syntax, context? You're so fucking beautiful, Quinn."

Peck.

"Are you going to answer my question?"

Kiss.

"Well…I'm actually going to consider your question. And considering I have this call back for an amazing show on the actual great white way, is actually saying… a LOT."

Kiss Kiss.

"I love you, Rach."

XOXOXOXO

"A word, Quinn."

Quinn sucked in her breath. Somehow, she had gotten cornered by hostile Mr. Berry (she had them referenced as 'nice Berry' and 'hostile Berry' in her mind), and unfortunately there was no escape route.

"I've noticed that Finn doesn't come around much, anymore." He commented.

"Oh, really?"

"Really. I liked that boy." He said, looking pointedly at Quinn.

"It's good that someone did, I suppose."

The tension was palpable.

"Quinn, you really must believe yourself to be QUITE extraordinary."

"What? No…I wouldn't say that, really."

"But you must."

Quinn sighed. "Why don't you just get on with it. You obviously want to say something to me, so do it."

He paused. After a beat, he spoke.

"I wrote you a letter, initially, saying what I wanted to say to you, Miss Quinn Fabray. But after I re-read it this morning, I think its too harsh for even you. So, I will attempt to tone it down and just…speak." He said, as he put the thick letter in the drawer of the hallway table.

Quinn started to put up her emotional wall - _the wall_. "Okay." She placed her hand on her hip, patented Cheerios' move #27.

"Rachel has an actual call back, and she'll likely get it. For the dream she's had her entire life, proablly even in the womb."

"Um-hmm."

"Can you guarantee that opportunity will be waiting for her when she gets back from playing house, with YOU, for a year, chasing YOUR dreams, in England?"

Quinn just raised her eyebrows. "There are no guarantees in life, Mr. Berry."

He laughed bitterly. "No, indeed there are not."

"Is that it?"

"Oh, no my dear, I'm just getting started. So when you have your inevitable 'gay panic' or your 'ha ha, just kidding, I was just trying to piss you off Daddy, now give me a Ferrari' moment – where does that leave Rachel?"

"What?" Quinn asked, starting to get angry.

"Oh – you're indignant? At me? Really? So, I guess that means you're planning on setting up house with Rachel? You're ready to take on the whispers, the stares, pointing, exclusion? All of those things people like Russell and Judy Fabray like to do to keep the "different" on the outside? You're fine with your kids getting slushied every day by the next generation of…you?"

"Well, I…"

"Rachel's **one **chance at a normal life…Finn…Finn Hudson is her one chance at not being different, in her adult life. you're fine that she dropped her steady, decent boyfriend who might just make her like everyone else for once in her life…you're fine with that choice? Cause she's never had "normal" Quinn, not once."

Quinn was seething.

"And whose fault is that, _Mr. Berry?"_

He started raising his voice. "How nice, that you stopped torturing her, only to decide to play with her like a toy and tempt her from her dreams…forgive me as a father – but I don't want to have to pick up the pieces of my child's broken heart, Quinn Fabray!"

She stood there, clenching her fists, silently taking it.

"Because one thing I've noticed about you – you sure give up when the going gets tough, or inconvenient. Just ask Beth Corcoran."

"**Fuck you**…_fuck you_, Mr. Berry! You don't get to talk to me about Beth!"

He grasped her by the shoulders. "Look at me!"

She glared upward.

"The best predictor of future behavior, is PAST behavior. Tell me three things about yourself that would contradict what I have just pointed out."

She remained silent.

"I thought so." He let go. "If you love her –at all—you will figure out a way to believably dump her – tout suite. You will make it so bad that she will never follow you again. Because she is stubborn – and when she commits, its all the way."

"What?"

"You'll do this, Quinn Fabray. Do something decent, for someone else, for ONCE in your life."

"I…can't. I _love _her…"

"You're a Fabray, Quinn. You don't love her, not really. You people don't KNOW how to love."

Tears started to form as her anger rose in her chest.

"How dare you – "

"Don't you 'how dare me.' How dare YOU? How dare you take away Rachel's dreams? You are such a swirling vortex of selfishness, you don't even think about these things! Its not in your nature."

Quinn was flatly crying, now.

"Think about it. I'm right Quinn." He spoke more gently. "If you love her, even a little…end it. End it, now."

The sound of the door crashing open and 'nice Mr. Berry' and Rachel laughing with ice cream in their hands reverberated throughout the house.

"Hey there-_ woah_. Quinn? Quinn are you crying? Quinn! What's wrong?" Rachel said, concerned.

Quinn looked at Rachel, then Mr. Berry.

Grimacing, she pushed past Rachel , wiping her tears, as she headed out towards the door.

"I have to go, Rach. I'll call you…later."

And just like that, she was gone.

XOXOXOXO

Rachel put the warm glass of Passion tea to her lips, taking a deep inhale of the vapors.

"Mmmm." She said aloud, to no one in particular. It felt like such a luxurary, to be alone, with privacy. Traveling, or performing, or living with Finn, she felt like she never had a moment to reflect.

Time to do her lottery ticket…

She put her glass down, put her hands in her pocket to fish for change, and felt the forgotten paper Beth had given her a week ago.

"Huh." She remarked, looking at the crumpled envelope.

She opened it, and began her read.

_Dear Rachey,_

_I'm enclosing this letter to you via Beth, who will take it back to New York, because frankly, it makes me too sad to read it to you aloud or go through the effort of mailing it myself. Why? Because it makes me think of my husband who is no longer with us, and that makes me sad; but mostly, because the contents of it are so…horrid, I can't believe the man I love could have written it._

_I was cleaning the hallway the other day, and came across it. We really should clean that junk drawer more often. And I found it there, stuffed away. It's a letter Hiram wrote to Quinn a long time ago, and I think it my clear up some questions you have in your head….and maybe it doesn't matter now. _

_But I think you deserve to know._

_I love you Pumpkin,_

_Papa_

_**TBC.**_


	8. Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Rachel sat, _stunned_.

She had finished reading the letters – both letters—from each of her respective fathers.

She was so overwhelmed, she didn't know what to do. So, she sat, for what seemed like an hour, until the phone rang, breaking her out of her catatonic state.

Zombie-like, she answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Rachey-Rach!"

"Brittany?"

"Well, yes, of course!"

"What are you doing, B?" Rachel, despite herself, felt a warm smile cross her face, an irrepressible phenonomia that occurred when talking to one Ms. Brittany M. Pierce.

"_Shhhh_- secret stuff. I had to do some special consulting at my "old job" and so I'm in a silo somewhere. But I stepped out of the command center for a bit to pee and to call you."

"Why? I mean, great, but…well."

Brittany laughed, warmly. "I know, I know…weird, huh? The fate of the free world hangs in the balance, and I'm calling you, instead."

She giggled.

Rachel said nervously, "well, don't you think you should get back to work, then? I don't want to lose Maine or California or something because we were chatting."

"Oh, no worries, I have at least 17 more minutes. Besides, the ghost of Lord Tubbington came to me and told me to call you. He said you were really distressed and needed some figuring out of something. Are you trying to do math again, Rachel?"

Rachel laughed. "No, nothing like that. Tell Lord T thanks, I guess. I did get some kind of disturbing news, actually."

"I figured. Keep going. And don't call him Lord T. He prefers correct nomenclature."

"Oh, okay." Rachel cleared her throat. "I got some kind of ….weird news, really."

"About your dance teacher and San doing the nasty, salt-n-peppa _grind-down_ lady lovin'?"

"Oh my** fucking** God, no. But thank you for that …. horrid visual."

"Actually, its not bad. They skyped me."

Rachel covered her eyes.

"You're covering your eyes, aren't you, Rachey?"

"Yes."

"Look, I only have 14 more minutes. Get on with it."

"Well, what if everything you thought you knew about your world, suddenly was….all wrong? What if the things you believed were generated from… a false premise?"

"That happens every day, to me, Rachey. The world is a very unpredictable place, if you actually pay attention."

Rachel sighed. "I guess I don't."

"No, you don't. I love you like a sister…a much shorter, Jewish, and more talkative sister, so don't take this the wrong way. You get _very_ convicted of things, once you set your mind to it."

"I know I do."

"And if you have already made your mind up, well, then you've colored your lens."

"What?"

"Colored your lens. Like, if you think the world is going to be blue that day, because you read it in your horoscope that morning, well, you've painted your glasses blue, and you're going to see everything as blue….blue sky, blue birds, blue Quinn…you catch my drift? " She paused. "And then you say, well, I guess that morning horoscope was right. The world **_was_** blue today."

"So what do I do?"

"Well, you can't recreate that day, _that _particular day is …gone. As I keep telling people here, you can't _make up_ data or _re-create_ data—that's lying. But, the only thing you can do is to start over, and look at it from a fresh perspective. Make sure your lenses are clear, or better yet, no lenses at all, since you don't wear glasses—and I think that would make things really blurry if you wore them and you don't need them."

Rachel chuckled.

"And then, Rach? You know what you do? You really, really _look._"

After a moment, Rachel said, "Thank you. Really."

"It's nothing. Oh good! 7 minutes left. Good thing I already figured this out. They're probably pissing their pants in there, so I should get back. I love you, Rachey-Rach."

"I love you too, B"

"Bye! You'll figure it out."

XOXOXO

Rachel pounded on the door.

"Open up! I know you're in there, Quinn. Stop hiding from me!"

Finally she opened the door, a crack.

"God **damn** it, Berry! Are you trying to get the neighbors to call the police? You're lucky my parents are gone or they would have called themselves!"

"I know. I was supposed to spend the weekend with you, remember?"

Quinn shrugged.

"I don't believe this -you blow me off for a week, and now, this?" Rachel said, pissed.

Quinn sighed, and gave off a tone of bored indifference. "What do you want, Berry? I'm busy. My friends are coming over, soon."

Rachel willed the tears in her eyes to stop, so she could get through this.

"What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with _you_?"

"Are you going to let me in, Quinn."

"No."

"No?" Rachel said, indignantly.

Quinn laughed, a cruel laugh. "You didn't think this was really going to last, did you?"

Rachel's mouth, dropped.

"Later, dwarf. Do me a favor, and be gone before they get here, and I have 'splaining to do to them as to why you're here."

She slammed the door.

Stunned, Rachel backed away from the door. After a minute, she turned and ran to her car, crying as she drove away from Quinn Fabray and back to her life…

She missed hearing the racking sobs coming from the _other _side of the door.

XOXOXO

I seem to always find myself at Quinn Fabray's door, don't I? Rachel thought, to herself.

With a grimace, she knocked on the door.

Slowly, it opened, and a face peered around it. The face lit up like Chirstmas in July.

"Princess Gwen!"

Rachel grinned. "Shh! I thought we went over this! It's 'Rachel' out in public, remember?"

"Oh, yeah….Rachel. Hmm. I like Princess Gwen, better."

"Well you call me that then. But only when its us, kay?"

"Okay."

He sat there, staring at her happily.

"Um, Freddy?"

"Yes, Princess Gwen?"

"May I come in?"

"Oh!" He turned bright red. "Of course. Come in…"

Rachel walked in.

A voice from another room called out, "Freddie! Is that someone at the door?"

"Yes, Mom!" He responded, happily. "It's just my girlfriend! She came over for a playdate!"

"_What?"_ The voice replied.

TBC


	9. The Dinner Guest

Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Various Hotties

Rating: Oops…I did it again. Yep, I went there. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards, the British monarchy, Tony's or TMZ. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation needed. I don't own Carpathea either.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. This is just a plot line that has allowed me to vent a few issues rolling around in my head that need personal airing out.

**CHAPTERNEXT: The Dinner Guest**

Quinn entered the room, borderline marching, getting ready to lecture Freddie about "girlfriends" and "unscheduled playdates" and "stranger danger," until she saw **_who_** was in their entrance foyer.

"I…" Quinn stuttered, "I…"

Their eyes met. After a moment, Rachel smiled wanly. "Hello, Quinn."

"Hello, Rachel."

Freddie smiled to himself, pleased, that even his own mother didn't get to use Rachel's "real" name.

"It's been awhile."

"Indeed."

Then, silence.

Freddie, looking puzzled between the two women, asked, "Wait….do you two know each other?"

Rachel looked at him and her gaze softened. "We do, handsome. Your mom and I have known each other for quite some time…sort of."

Still puzzled, Freddie asked, "Mom, when were you in Carpathia?"

"Carpathia? Ohhhh, _Carpathia_!" Quinn said, as she recollected Princess Gwen's imaginary vaguely North European -esque country. "Well, I never had the honor of visiting that providence, even as a Duchess." She paused, floundering.

"It's very small, actually, Freddie." Rachel interjected. "Your mom and I actually went to school together."

"Wait, what? Where?"

"In Lima, Ohio." The two women said, simultaneously.

Freddie sniggered. "Jinx, 1-10, you owe me a coke!"

Rachel looked at him and fired back, "The jinx machine is out of order, Jinx 1-10, you owe me a quarter!"

Freddie beamed. He looked at his mom. "See? This is why she's my girlfriend."

Rachel looked at Quinn, horrified.

Quinn said dryly, "Well, you two are about the same size, I suppose."

Rachel shot her a dirty look. Quinn giggled.

"Mom, you never told me you went to school with her!"

Rachel, looking at Quinn floundering again, improved. "Well, Freddie, the kids I went to school with had to sign releases – those are like contracts- saying they wouldn't discuss me with the press, or whatever, to protect my privacy."

"Oh," He said, nodding seriously. Similar things had happened to him.

"But why Lima, Ohio? It seemed so…bleak."

"Didn't it?" Rachel said. "But that's just on the outside, looking in. It looks like Anytown, USA – and that's why I was sent there." Rachel took his hand, leading him to the playroom/living room. "You see, being an only child, and being so famous, my parents were concerned about how I would be treated if I went to school in….um, my home territory."

"Uh-huh?" Freddy said, following along.

Quinn trailed the two characters, and sat across from them, following their very

Conversation, with a very amused look on her face.

"It seemed like every time I turned around, snap! A photographer."

"Don't I know that!"

"I'm sure you do, Handsome-Jack! Well, they debated, for a long time, 'should we home school?' 'should we send her to Milton Carpathea Academy, where her cousins went?' yada yada yada."

"Yada yada yada…." He concurred, dreamily.

Quinn shook her head, mutely.

"I hated tutors."

"Me, too!" Agreed Freddie, excitedly.

"They all seem to have the personality of a wet rag, don't they? " Winking at Quinn, she continued. "And frankly, its hard to be the only heir to a throne, isn't it? Everyone knows you...you can't ever just, oh, I don't know, play! You can't just be someone's friend without them wanting something from you."

Freddie sat stunned. She had gotten it so right….

"So, they decided, the best thing for me was to take me out of my home country, and send me to school where no-one cared who I was. Well, that place didn't exist in Europe. So, they sent me to America."

Freddie gasped. "Like **_me_**!"

"Exactly like you!"

Quinn rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling.

"Wow."

"Yup. And I went from being, um, Princess Gwendolyn Alexendria Saxe-Moutbatten II to Rachel Barbra Berry."

"Ew!"

Quinn guffawed. "Actually, Freddie, I thought it was quite cute."

"What kind of name is_ that_, Mom?"

Rachel huffed. "It was a wonderful name, actually. And honestly, Freddie, it's the name I feel most comfortable with, even today."

He twisted his face. "Am I going to have to get some horrible bloke name as well? Like, Emmanuel, or something gross?"

Rachel smiled at him, warmly. "Probably not, dear. You're even more famous than I was, dear. People will know who you are already."

"Should I go to Lima, Ohio?" He said, panicked.

"Oh, God, no!" They both said simultaneously.

Pinching them both, he proclaimed, "Pinch, poke, you owe me a coke."

Rubbing her arm, Quinn said, "that's a lot of cokes."

"You could just buy me Skylanders instead." He said, smiling.

"We've already been through this. **NO**!" And the universal "Mom-NO-look" swept over her face.

Rachel watched the Mexican standoff with interest. Quinn stood her ground, and Freddie relinquished.

"So, um, anyway…Rachel, huh? Did people find out who you were?"

"Only my friends."

"Did my mom know?"

A look passed between them. Rachel put her stage face on. "Yes, she did."

The room was tense again.

"Who else?"

"Well, um, everyone that you met at Muccino's Italian Cuccino, really, that's why I jokingly call them…."

"The knights of the round table!" Freddie said with realization.

"Yes, that, or the New Directions." Quinn said, dryly.

They both looked at her incredulously.

"What? That's what we were called!"

They continued to look at her.

Turning his attention back to his crush, he spoke hesitantly. "Princess Gwen? We were just going to eat supper. Would you care to join us for dinner?"

Quinn interrupted, "Honey, Rachel is very busy, I'm sure she doesn't have time to-"

"I'd love to, Freddie!" She said, smiling down at the beaming man-child. Looking defiantly at Quinn across the room, she said, "Thank you for the invitation, Quinn."

XOXOXOXO

_Worst idea of all worst ideas, ever._ Thought Quinn, to herself. They were at a Chippendale's in South Cleveland for Rachel's bachelorette party. It was loud, the men were gross, and everyone was on her nerves.

_I'm definitely not drunk enough._ Quinn took a long sip of her gin and tonic, mixed with Red Bull. She was still dealing with the jet lag from flying back from England for this stupid affair, and she was sitting with the realization she should have said "no" to Rachel Berry's stupid request for her to be the Maid of Honor.

"Why **_you_**?" Said Nadiene, Rachel's NYADA roommate, sitting next to Quinn.

"What?" Quinn replied, shouting over the noise.

"Why you?" She repeated, louder. "Why did Rachel chose YOU to be her maid of honor? You're not even _friends_, anymore."

"I asked that same question!" Tina Cohen-Chen Chang interjected, coming being them. "After all, Rachel was the maid of honor at OUR wedding! I though she would have reciprocated!"

"_Well_, Girl Chang, Sparkles, I don't know. Rachel Barbara Berry moves in mysterious ways. That's a question you'll have to ask the midget." She took another drink of her G&T.

"Ask me what?" Rachel said, giddily joining them. She was covered in sparkles from the spontaneous lap dance she had just received.

"The runners- up want to know why _they_ weren't picked to be Maid of Honor." She said, gesturing in their direction. "I think it's a good question."

"Oh." Said Rachel, matter-of-factly, "Because you were supposed to be my Maid of Honor, the first time!"

Nodding, and seeming to accept her answer, they turned their interest towards other things.

"Plus, I thought it would be the only way you'd come." Rachel said quietly, only within earshot of Quinn.

A pained look passed across Quinn's face, only briefly. "Yeah, well, let me do my duties, and get you drunk. What do you want, Rach?" Quinn stood, heading towards the bar.

"Oh, let me come with you!" Said Rachel, bounding up.

One drink turned into two, then five, and then it turned into Rachel's hotel room.

Groping, feeling, _touching._

Quinn could never get enough of those lips. She kissed Rachel, passionately, as like a man starved for food when he gets his first meal…

Quinn, despite her intoxication, deftly removed Rachel's clothes off her body. Gasping, she marveled at the woman underneath her.

"You are still, so…so beautiful, Rachel."

She lathed kissed across her chest, stomach. Rachel groaned, and ran her fingers through Quinn's soft hair.

Quinn continued south. Pulling Rachel's underwear down, with her teeth, she cast a predatory gaze up at Rachel that sent shivers down her spine. Quinn grasped the sides of her underwear and yanked them down, impatiently. Inhaling Rachel's sweet musky scent, she groaned herself.

"You smell so good. So …. Mmmmm."

She teasingly dipped the tip of her tongue into Rachel's center, and swirled. Rachel murmured. However, when Quinn flicked her tongue across Rachel's hood, she caused her body to jerk violently, and Rachel sat up.

"Quinn! Take your damn clothes off, and fuck me."

"Patience, Berry." Quinn stood up, and removed the offending garments off her body, tossing them to the side.

This is NOT a good idea, Quinn thought abstractly, as she gripped the brunette's thighs, and pulled her center towards the edge of the bed. As she lowered her head between Rachel's thighs, and dipped her tongue in and out of Rachel's quickly widening hole, she shuddered. She started plunging in with a fierceness, a hunger that had not been sated in almost a year. She lapped up her juices, and rubbed her clit harshly with her right hand, while her tongue pressed deeper, further…into Rachel's willing opening.

"Ohhh, God, Quinn….oh, you feel so fucking ….good…"Rachel moaned.

Quinn continued to pin down her writhing body with her strong left arm, increasing her intensity, her hunger worsening by the taste she had craved, for so long…

"_Mmmmm_. So fucking good, Rachel. I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk tomorrow. So _hard _you'll be tender at your wedding night, and can barley be touched, _down below_..."

And she plunged three fingers into Rachel's center, forcefully, while she sucked the hood of her clit, eventually nipping with her teeth.

"Oh, Fuck! ** Fuck**! Oh, _fuck me_, Quinn..harder, please!" Rachel was writing, almost controllably.

Rachel gasped, as she felt Quinn thrust harder, jamming into her entrance.

"Oh, yes! You feel so f_ucking_ good, Quinn…come in me….please, I'm begging…. Just…oh, _fuck_."

Quinn smirked as she felt the familiar tightening around her fingers and the slickness of her wall with each thrust. With her right hand, she lathed up the juices of Rachel's wetness, using them to lubricate her anal opening, and she pushed in, deep, causing Rachel to gasp. Quinn was sweating now, with the exertion of both arms thrusting, but she willed her arms to continue, and she sucked even harder on the angry red clit. Quinn groaned with the familiar, intoxicating feeling of being_ inside_ Rachel Berry. She gritted her teeth with determination and thrust, _harder_…

"Quinn," Whined Rachel, as she shook. "Yes, there, right there! Oh, fuck! **_Do. Not. Stop._** God, Quinn, I just want you to do me, all night long!"

And that is precisely what Quinn did- for the next five hours. Rachel lost count of how many times she came…and then abruptly, Quinn got up, and put her clothes back on, startling the Diva from her post-coital bliss.

Smoothing down her JBF hair, Quinn said, matter of factly. "Later, Berry. I'll see you at the wedding."

"Where are you going, Quinn?"

Quinn smiled sadly. "Don't you know what this was, Rachel? What I am? " Laughing bitterly, she continued. "Puck and the boys are taking Finn to a brothel tonight. You see, the idea of a bachelor or bachelorette party is to get all your "bad impulses" out of your system before you get married….so you can be a better person when you **_do_** get married. Tonight was…well. That. That's all this was – I'm your bad impulse, Rachel. This was my gift to you – to get it out of your system. Your bad impulses. You know, deep down, that's all I ever was."

Walking out the door, looking at a stunned Rachel behind her, she said, "Goodbye, Rachel. After the wedding tomorrow, don't ever contact me…again. Ever."

And she shut the door behind her.

XOXOXOX

Freddy said, while chopping a mouthful of edemamae, "Princess Gwen? What was Mama like in school?"

Rachel and Quinn cast a quick glance at each other.

"Well," Rachel said, carefully. "Of course, she was the prettiest girl in school."

"Prettier than you?"

"Oh, by far."

"No, I wasn't." Quinn said, quietly. "Rachel, was, actually."

"I could see either." Freddie said diplomatically. "So….Was she as big of a dork back then?"

"Dork?"

"Yeah, Dork! All she does is read. She doesn't do anything bad, like, ever. That's what Dad says, anyway. She's so serious all the time!"

"Well, thank you, Freddie." Snorted Quinn.

Rachel smiled. "Oh, no. Back then, Freddie, Quinn was the most popular girl in school! She was the Head Cheerleader for two years in a row! She was the HBIC!"

"HBIC?"

Quinn shot her a warning glance.

"Yes, Head….um. Head _Bobcat _In Charge. She was the Quinn Bee, Freddie."

Freddie spit out his food. "What?" Pointing at his mom, for clarification, he said, "Her?" He looked at Rachel, incredulously. "My mom? That lady?"

"Yes, her. You shouldn't point, handsome-Jack, its not polite. Yes, actually, every girl who went to McKinley wished they _were_ her – even me. She was so smart, so good at cheering, moderately okay at singing, and every boy wanted her. It would make your whole day, if she just looked in your direction. And when she smiled, which wasn't often, it would make your whole week."

And she cast a sad look at the blonde, who looked glumly at her plate.

"I remember the day we became friends like it was yesterday, Freddie. It was one of the best days of my life. It happened in a bathroom."

"Weird. And kind of gross, if it was in a bathroom."

"You could say that again." Rachel concurred. She winked at Quinn, again.

TBC.


	10. The Rhodes Scholar

Story: The Shell Collector

Disclaimer: Don't own anything here, just honoring the medium. All not-for-profit.

Rating: this is kind of PG but the story is M overall.

A/N: Filler. Necessary Filler, but filler nonetheless. Patience, grasshoppers, patience! They'll get their moment.

**CHAPTER NEXT: The Rhodes Scholar**

Quinn hummed to herself as she shelved the stacks of books on her cart. She adored the Bodleian Library; perhaps the best in the world, it was the only place she could sometimes find peace, was among the formidable and inanimate shelves of books. As she turned the corner, she smacked into a tall young man, and the books came crashing down – on her toes.

"Oh my god, you idiot! Those were my toes!"

"I'm so sorry…I'm a little daft today."

Handsome, polite, tall, red hair…it could only be Oxford's famous summer student.

And he was an idiot, in Quinn's opinion. And she was furious.

"Are you going to stand there like a moron, or are you going to help pick these up since you probably broke 9 out of 10 of my toes?"

His face turned scarlet. As he picked them up, he tried to make small talk. "That sounds like an American accent, there."

"So I've been told."

"You American, then?"

"No, I'm Chinese." She rolled her eyes.

He laughed. "Gorgeous. American, and rude. You must be the legendary Miss Quinn Fabray."

Now it was Quinn's turn to look startled. "What did you say?"

"Your name, I believe."

Quinn narrowed her eyes. He smiled and raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, blokes talk. There aren't too many pretty ladies here, and you're kind of famous as I understand. No one's ever been successful in getting you to go on a date – male or female."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Really?"

"Look, Quinn, don't be insulted. Everyone knows you're smart – you're a Rhodes Scholar, for Jimmy's sake! Its just, you happen to be very pretty, too. And, well, sounds as though you're unattainable, from what the fellas say. Creates mystery and intrigue." He said, conspiratorially.

"I find it hard to believe you don't have something better to talk about."

"Blokes ages 18-25 years? Hmm. Nope."

Quinn chuckled.

"She laughs!"

"I sing and dance, too. Strip, too, since I used to be a pretty successful stripper – but I'm curtailing those activities these days."

She kept a straight face as she went back to organizing her books, and from the corner of her eye, she saw the young man's jaw drop.

XOXOXO

Rachel huffed as she lost her second straight game of UNO to the diminutive – but obviously gloating – young man in front of her.

"Look, Princess G, if I went easy on you, what would be the satisfaction of winning?,. if and when you ever do? That's how you learn in life."

"That sounds like something _Quinn_ would say."

"Actually, that's Great-Grammy. She beats me, every time."

Quinn guffawed, hearing the tail end of the conversation, entering from cleaning up the kitchen. "So true. Alright, little card sharks, its time for bath and bedtime."

His head snapped to Rachel. "Are you going to do bedtime with me tonight?" The unmistakable plea in his voice, palpable.

His big baby blues focused on her.

Quinn interrupted, "Freddie, honey. Rachel and I didn't discuss that, she's very busy. Perhaps when she can plan for it another time, she-

"I'd _love_ to." Rachel interjected. Looking at Quinn, intensely, she said, "what do we do first, Mom?"

XOXOXO

The mop of red hair could be seen in the library more and more frequently, and despite herself, Quinn found herself talking to him. He had a real knack for drawing conversation out of her, and even getting her do laugh from time to time. He in turn, found an ally, and someone who didn't expect a thing from her. She also had been through more in her young life, it would seem, than most people that ran in his circles in their fifties. The only person wiser, in his life, was his Grammy. He found himself running more and more decisions by her.

"I'm so tired of living in the shadow of …everything, Quinn. I want to make my own mark."

Quinn furrowed her brow.

"Well, that's going to be challenging. You are talking about one of the biggest institutions in your country – the monarchy – and that's a hard thing to surpass."

"I know. Tell me about it! But its not just that, Quinn…" He said, leaning forward. "Its also my big brother. HE is the darling child. Every time anyone looks at me, they act like I'm a prodigal son. If I do anything right, like get A marks, its always, 'well, that's _almost _as good as your brother,' and if I do anything **_wrong_**…."

"It's the classic, 'I told you so.' I know. I had a perfect big sister, too."

"So what'd you do?"

"Well, first I acted out. I had a baby out of wedlock, I dyed my hair pink, I smoked."

His eyes got big. "What? YOU?"

"Yep." Quinn said, nodding. "It doesn't take too long to figure out that immature behavior doesn't get you where you need to go."

"I got busted for drugs."

"I know. So does the whole world."

He turned red.

"So…what you have to figure out, is this: what is a bigger institution, and what is something Frannie…whoops, I mean, _your brother_….has never done, or excelled in? That way, it's a fresh look at **_you_**."

"Wow, that's hard." He said, glumly, taking a sip of his coffee.

They sat quietly, thinking.

Quinn snapped her fingers. "I've got it!"

"What?"

"The military! Its perfect. War is just as old as your family! Your brother is, frankly, kind of a pussy. You're a great athlete, people like you; and you are pretty tactically oriented. Though, I recommend retaking Geography if you really did get a D in it like you said. Anyway, that's your answer."

"Quinn, you…why, you're a genius!"

"Thank you."

He sat there quietly. "Quinn, I'm going to head back to Eton soon."

"I'm aware." Quinn, despite herself, was not eager to see her one friend go.

"You don't suppose you'd like to take these little library sessions outdoors, do you?"

"To where?"

"Dinner, dancing?"

"Dancing?"

"Ballroom dancing. None of that American crap." He said, waggling his eyebrows.

Quinn laughed. "Okay, but this is not a date, got it?"

"Got it. Not a date."

"Because I'm warning you: I'm damaged goods. I'm only going to break your heart- I'm in love with someone else."

"Got it. Damaged. Broken. Unavailable. I think that covers it."

She sighed. "I hope you do. Many people thought they could change that – and their wrong. Don't think you're different."

"Well, I actually am different. But I get it."

XOXOXO

The kid was even more regimented than Sue Sylvester. Bath-teeth-prayers-story-kiss-lights out. No deviation.

"And now comes the part where you make up a story and tell it to me."

Rachel rolled her eyes, incredulously. "What about r_eading_ a story to you?"

"Reading? I've been doing that since I was three. Most children's books have no imagination whatsoever! Their all just regurgitations of the same thing. I'll read to myself if I want to_ read_."

Quinn looked at the scene amused.

"Now that does sound like your mother."

"Yep."

"Well, listen, Freddy…I certainly don't have the literary mind of your mother…she was a Rhodes scholar at Oxford, after all…"

"What's that, Mama?"

Rachel's head snapped to Quinn. "He doesn't know you're a _Rhodes Scholar?"_

Quinn shrugged. "Its not as interesting as Yo Gabba Gabba."

"What is that?"

"Freddie, all of the American universities – and there are 200 times as many as in your country – nominate the best and brightest students they have to do 2-4 post bacchloriate years at Oxford University. Only 30 or so get picked. All go on to do great things."

"Wow."

"yes, wow. It's the most prestigious scholarship in the world, Freddie. And your mom, well, she went to one of the best schools in our country, so she already had the hardest competition there was around – and not a lot of females have gotten picked."

"Okay, Rachel, that's enough. How do you know so much about this?"

"You weren't the only nominee, Lucy Quinn Fabray."

"What? I didn't know that!"

"There's a lot you don't know, Quinn. I turned it down."

"Oh, that's right! You were up for your first Broadway show!"

"No that wasn't it. There's a lot that went into my decision." She said, darkly.

"Okay, enough talky talk. Story?"

Sighing, Rachel said, "As I believe I mentioned, my literary mind is no match for your mother's. So how about we do something I'm actually okay at?"

"Oh…kay." He said skeptically.

Rachel turned out the light. Rubbing his back, she started singing.

"_Hush little baby, don't you cry….Mama's going buy you a lullaby…."_

Hearing that angelic voice again, Quinn turned away. Quinn walked out of the room, just in time for her first tear to fall.

TBC.


	11. Rachel Picks Up A Shell

Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

Rating: Current rating is PG for this chapter, with a warning that it will soon not be appropriate for prime time. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards, the British monarchy, Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, or motherhood. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation needed.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. AND, I have a theory that my mom has paid W1cked, laurenknight13, and southernranger1 a hefty sum of money to inflate my ego – folks, that's not nice to take money from an old lady! Really. As always, thanks for the constructive criticism-I've used several points in re-editing, and I appreciate the time you take to read this and post reviews.

**CHAPTERNEXT: Rachel Picks Up The Shell**

Despite his promise, he fell madly in love with Quinn Fabray. It couldn't be helped. Beautiful, fearless, brilliant, and utterly disinterested in him – it was a deadly combination. He wore her down, finally, and when she read in the tabloids that Rachel was pregnant, in a moment of weakness she finally said "yes."

Despair is a funny emotion, after all.

The press held their breath, waiting to see if the American would crack under the unbelievable scrutiny entailed with marrying into this family. Fergie was a prime example. And Camilla? _Please._

A funny thing happened on the way to Kensington, however. Lucille Quinn Fabray did NOT crack. What they had underestimated, however, is that she had been bred for this moment since the day she was born by her mother. She was a natural at running schedules, organizing the staff, projecting costs, and looking good and keeping up appearances. She was able to talk to men and women easily, on virtually any topic. She was even an excellent ballroom dancer!

_What a waste of an education_, Quinn often thought.

One morning, her husband said something odd to her. "Quinn? Are we even still friends, anymore?"

"Of course, darling."

"Because, it's _you,_ you know."

"Me, what?"

"You. _ You_ are the thing that finally made me stand out from my brother. I picked the perfect wife. And it's the only thing that makes me…special."

Quinn put down the New York Times, and looked at him meaningfully. "If you believe that, really believe that, then, that's really tragic."

XOXOX

**Nomination Eight: Pascaquolae**

"Rachel, I wouldn't do this one." J said, solemnly.

This was an emergency lunch – it was just Rachel and Cassandra. She needed an opinion, and needed it quick.

"Why not? I have to make people forget the horror that was "_Princess Vomit II: Shoulda Gone Straight to DVD._"

"Yeah, but you're being really obvious about it. No one wants to pay $100 bucks to go see something so depressing!"

"J, I have to do something to be taken seriously again."

"It's trying too hard. What does that blond friend of yours say?"

"Who, Quinn?"

"Yes. That one. Your new BFF."

"Well," Rachel said, sucking her breath in. "She might have said it was…um. _Unreadable_, I believe, was her impression."

"For once, I see eye to eye with her."

"You _really_ don't like her, do you?"

"_Meh._ I don't like her, I don't dislike her. I just don't _trust _her, and I think she's going to hurt you."

Rachel was silent.

"You might be right about the script, but you're wrong about Quinn."

"We'll see. She has yet to earn my respect."

Standing up from the booth, J wrapped her scarf around her neck. "Schwimmer, I gotta run. I have a pregnant hormonal wife who is demanding chocolate cookie crunch ice cream, and I am not interested in hearing 50 minutes of Spanish expletives if I'm much later than I already am. Listen, I can tell the look in your eyes – you're going to do this. And I'm going to say, "I told you so." And you're going to continue to do this weird dance you've been doing with the Princess, until she likely hurts you."

"And let me guess," Rachel interrupted. "You'll say, I told you so."

"No." She said, picking up the last of her stuff to leave. "I'll probably be crying right along with you and my hormonal wife. Because deep down, I had hoped right along with you, _all this time_, that I was wrong." She headed out the door to the frozen New York evening, as Rachel watched her leave.

The prophetic Ms. J was right.

Rachel not only lost her eighth Tony, but the odds had put her at an insulting 240 to 1. The show closed in a mere six months, a record for a Rachel Berry gig.

There are some things; after all, even Rachel couldn't save.

XOXOX

Quinn peered into the darkened room, gesturing Rachel to exit.

Tears brimming in her eyes, Rachel wiped them, and exited. Quinn shut the door gently behind them, smiling.

"He looks so…angelic, asleep."

"It's God's trick, Rachel. It's a power he gives children to look so perfect and sweet sleeping, so you forgive them all their transgressions during the day—and to forget your vow you made yourself, shortly after they broke your Aunt Martha's antique gravy bowl in batting practice, to never have more children." She said, amusedly.

"Wow. Well, it works."

"I know, doesn't it?"

Quinn walked them into the sitting room, and gestured to one side of the couch. There, on one end, was a steaming hot glass of peppermint tea with lemon.

"How did you know, Quinn?" Rachel's head popped around.

Quinn shrugged. "You pick up things. Every time Julie Andrews or Patti LuPone came round, that's always what they drank in the evening for their voice. Though, Julie Andrews said it was better with whiskey."

Rachel's eyes twinkled. "Actually, it is."

"I'll be right back." Quinn said.

After pouring a healthy dose into both of their teas, now pseudo-hot toddies, Quinn sat comfortably at the other end of the couch.

"_So_," Rachel began. "Did it work?"

"What?" Quinn said, nervously.

"God's trick."

"Huh?"

"Did you ever want more children?"

"Oh, _that_." Said Quinn, wanly. "Yes, abstractly, but no, definitively."

"Well, that's a real non-answer."

"Hmm." Said Quinn, taking a drink. "Well, that would require me to have sex. So, while I love children, _no_, I wasn't overly enthuastic about the notion."

"That's not what I remember," Rachel said, raising her eyebrows.

Quinn took another sip. Looking away, she said quietly, without smiling, "that's because it was _with you_, Rachel."

Rachel took a drink, and looked down. "But you did, at least once, have sex. With someone other than me, after me, Quinn."

"Yes, I did. And more than once. And I hated it – but it was my job. To produce an heir. So, I did my job, and then I was done."

"Do you think you want anymore, someday?"

Quinn sighed. "That's complicated, Rachel."

"Oh."

They sat for a moment, in tense silence.

"Are you going to cut the crap, Rachel Berry? I've been here in New York for over two and a half months now, and you've treated me like a leper, despite every attempt I made to contact you. And then out of the blue, tonight…." Her voice broke.

She took another drink to calm herself.

"_Tonight, tonight, won't be just __**any**__ night_…"Rachel broke off into song.

Quinn glared at her.

"Ahem." Rachel took another drink. "I sing when I'm nervous."

"_And_ happy. _And_ angry. _And_ bored. So cut the crap, Berry. You show up on my doorstep after all this time, and act like nothing's wrong, like we're just two old friends hanging out."

"We were never friends, Quinn."

Quinn took a sip.

"We were _lovers_." Rachel finished, in a husky, emphatic voice.

Her words caused Quinn to choke on her in-process sip.

"Well…that's _what_ we were. Because friends, Quinn,_ friends_…."her voice trailed off as she held Hiram Berry's crumpled letter up, from out of the depths of her pocket, "_friends_ stand up for each other. They don't let some jack-ass run them off."

Evenly, Quinn replied, "What do you have there, Rachel?"

"A letter that my father wrote to you. He must have not given it to you, but spoke to you instead. Didn't he, Quinn?" Her voice was getting louder. "Didn't he, Quinn? Was it the day I came home with ice cream from J.P. Licks with Daddy?"

Quinn said nothing.

"The day you pushed past me, walking out, and didn't call later? Was that the day?"

Taking a drink, Quinn replied. "Yes. Your father and I spoke, that day, yes."

Quinn kept her gaze level and looked straight into Rachel's impassioned brown eyes. Rachel shook her head, in disbelief, and took a drink. Doing her best to keep her voice from cracking, she said nothing for a moment.

"Do you need a refill, Rachel?"

"Mmm. No. Just the whiskey."

Nodding resolutely, Quinn poured them each another quarter. After taking a swig, with a minor grimace, she commented. "Tea with whisky is better than whiskey with tea."

"Indeed." Quinn agreed, nodding her head, only slightly.

Another moment of uncomfortable silence occurred. After a moment, Rachel worked up the courage to address the elephant in the room.

"And you _believed_ him, Quinn?"

"Believed what?"

Rachel huffed in exasperation. "You really believed that you weren't…" Rachel did air quotes, "_good enough_? Really? Good enough for me?"

Quinn sat down her glass on its saucer to gesture air quotes back in response. "Yes."

"Quinn, I **_loved_** you!"

Quinn looked at the bottom of her glass and took a final swig. She felt the warm burning down her throat and wondered abstractly if she was tipsy yet.

When Quinn said nothing, Rachel said, frustrated, "And Quinn? You _loved_ me!"

Looking into her cup, she said quietly, "Yes, I did love you, Rachel."

Rachel set down her cup, and slid the length of the couch. Gripping Quinn's shoulders with each of her small hands, she shook her gently.

"Look at me, Quinn! **Look. At. Me**."

Quinn brought her gaze upwards, weakly. The hazel eyes took in the passionate brown ones in front of her that were scanning, searching looking for a semblance of the girl she once knew.

"_Quinn Fabray_! How could you let him make you believe you…you weren't worthy?"

Quinn's eyes drifted downward.

"Because, I **wasn't, **Rachel. I _wasn't_ worthy." She said, defeated.

Rachel took her hands off Quinn and balled them into fists, shaking them in the air,à la Mr. Muccino. "Arrgh! And you _believed_ him, Quinn?"

She looked weakly at Rachel. "Rach, I was twenty-two years old. I'd been told I wasn't good enough, my whole life. I was never thin enough, never pretty enough, never pious enough, never as good as Frannie….I was never, ever, _enough_. Ever. Everyone that ever fell in love with me always got hurt, eventually. I was pretty sure I was broken."

Tears forming in her eyes, Rachel shook her head. "That's not true, Quinn."

Quinn's voice was getting angry. "Yes, Rachel. It is true. And it's still true. I'm still breaking people's hearts that love me. Worse, I don't just break their hearts…I break _them_."

Rachel just shook her head, and said firmly, "No."

"No? _No?_ _You're_ wrong, Rachel. Your father was right."

"No, he wasn't." Standing up, Rachel retrieved the box of Kleenex on the piano, and brought it to Quinn, who blew her nose. Rachel sat down again, this time close to Quinn. She grasped her hand, in a warm clutch.

"Tell me this, Quinn. These people that you broke…did you love them?"

"What?"

"Any of them. Can you honestly tell me that you _loved_ them…that you, Quinn Fabray, loved them?"

"I…I…well." She pursed her lips. "Hmm."

"And, Quinn Fabray, can you tell me this? Did _you_ love _me_?"

Warm brown eyes looked up, sincerely gazing at the hazel ones above her. Quinn felt like she was being swallowed whole by those big brown eyes.

"Yes. Without question, I loved you."

"I see. And so you made, what you considered to be an act of love, and you sacrificed yourself…us. You sacrificed us."

"Something like that."

"Why on earth did you do that?"

Quinn sighed, aggravated. She removed her hand from Rachel's. "I already told you this. I couldn't stand to see you… broken."

Rachel retrieved the absent hand and gripped it again.

Without a trace of malice, she said to Quinn, "How could you make that decision alone? Didn't I get a say?"

"What decision was there to make? Your judgment was impaired, anyway."

"Oh," Rachel said, amused. "The great and powerful Quinn Fabray was too irresistible to refuse? I would be unable to step away from the spell of the evil siren of my own volition?"

Quinn chuckled. "Something like that. As I recall, you had orgasm toxicity resulting in brain poisoning. Your decision-making at that time was a little flawed."

"I see. And what was the bachelorette party? As I recall, some serious brain poisoning happened, there."

"I didn't say I was superhuman...I was just stronger than you. I knew what had to be done, it's just …. I missed your touch. I missed _you_. It was a lapse in humanity."

"And of all the places you could have moved, you moved to New York City."

Quinn sighed. "Well, the happiest times of my life have been in New Haven and New York. I had to move _somewhere_…and I thought New Haven would have been too much of a fishbowl for poor Freddie."

"And…?" Rachel prompted.

"And New York has some great schools here, that he can attend."

"_And_…?" Rachel said, growing impatient.

"A very international community, so he wouldn't feel ostracized."

Rachel threw a pillow at Quinn.

"Hey!" Quinn mock protested. "Okay,_ fine_. It also has the lure of a certain….diva."

Rachel batted her eyelashes. "Correct."

They looked at each other, sizing one another up.

Finally Rachel spoke, "Why, now, Quinn? After all this time?"

"Why? I don't know, Rachel. I think I finally…." Quinn sighed. "I think I finally realized, I just couldn't stay away…from you...any longer."

They looked at each other, again, in silence. This time, however, they both felt that they were each really _seeing_ the other.

Finally, Rachel stood up, and extended her hand.

"Take my hand, Quinn."

"What? Why? What are you doing?"

"I'm picking up my shell, the one I missed before when I was playing in the sand. Now… _take my hand_."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12: The Paso Doble

Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

Rating: Current rating is PG for this chapter, with a warning that it will soon not be appropriate for prime time. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards, the British monarchy, Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, or motherhood. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation needed.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. AND, I have a theory that my mom has paid W1cked, laurenknight13, and southernranger1 a hefty sum of money to inflate my ego – folks, that's not nice to take money from an old lady! Really. As always, thanks for the constructive criticism-I've used several points in re-editing, and I appreciate the time you take to read this and post reviews.

**CHAPTER 12: Paso Doble**

It was full on, New York City, snowing. Rockefeller Plaza was beautiful, and Santana? She was very,_ very_, pregnant. She waddled to the door, swearing in Spanish, opening it, to reveal a frozen Quinn Fabray.

Santana narrowed her eyes. "How did you get past my doorman?"

Quinn pushed past her inside, removing her coat. Smirking, she said, "Bitch, _please._ Is that even a question?"

"Yes, it actually was a question. Here's another: where's that spawn of satan of yours?"

"At home, being baby-sat by Rachel, learning show tunes right about now, I would imagine."

"…And told he's 'pitchy.'"

"Ah, yes, that." Nodded Quinn, laughing. Continuing in Rachel's formidable instructive "sing song", she said, "_Quinn, he's a passable tenor, but he needs to learn some focus. I don't care that he's five. Good habits start early_."

They both laughed. Then, remembering she was angry at Quinn, Santana stopped laughing. "Hey-I didn't invite you here."

"I'm aware. You also didn't invite me to the baby shower."

"You weren't even in the states, then!"

"No, which is why I say, please forgive the lateness of the gift. However, it did afford me the opportunity to hear the gender of the baby. I heard you were having a girl – God help the boys of New York."

"And/or girls." Santana corrected.

"You're right.** True** hotness knows no gender." Quinn agreed, nodding. She handed over a box, a very neatly wrapped ordeal. "Its for her. Have a name yet?"

"Beatrice."

"**_Beatrice?"_** Quinn said, immediately laughing.

"Hey! It was J's grandma's name. " Quinn didn't stop laughing. "Look, Quinn, she's not having any kids in this lifetime, so I got pressured by both her _and_ her mother."

Quinn was wiping tears from her eyes.

Santana stopped scowling, and began chuckling, too. "It's shitty, isn't it?"

Quinn had to sit down, she was laughing so hard.

"God, I missed you, Q. You're such a bitch."

Quinn finally stopped laughing. "Speaking of, open the present, bitch-back."

"Oh_-kay._ This isn't something that's going to make me abort, suddenly?"

"I don't know."

"Grrreat."

Opening it carefully, Santana's mouth dropped. She removed a tiny, perfect little replica… of a _Cheerios_ outfit, complete with miniature pom-poms.

Santana's eyes got huge. "How did you…?"

Quinn waved her hand. "Nada. As it turns out, oddly enough, Sue Sylvester is a HUGE Liz II fan. She's having tea with her at Buckingham in exchange."

"God save the Queen." Santana said.

"No shit!"

They looked at each other and laughed. Then, Sanatana waddled over to Quinn, and said, "Welcome home, HBIC."

Santana finally hugged her, closing her eyes, trying not to cry. Quinn smiled, reveling in the familiar grasp of her longtime best friend.

"So, you and I? We're okay?"

"We're good." Santana nodded.

"Lopez- stop going soft on me." Quinn wacked her in the arm. "It's freaking me out."

"How do you think I felt when you had all that baby hormone shit going on at 16? What a fucking nightmare!"

After a moment, Quinn said. "I'm glad…I missed you a lot, San. I just…couldn't. You reminded me too much of Lima…and the things I couldn't have…in Lima. It's not fair, but it is what it is."

"We all cope, the best we can. I understand- but I was hurt."

"I know…and I'm sorry, San."Quinn sighed. After a moment, "So, if we're okay, if I'm going to keep on this AA-like apology tour, tell me: What about that wife of yours?"

"You and J?" Santana chortled. "I'm not stupid. I'm not getting involved in that. Look, Q, Rachel is…._special_, as you know. She makes people…better. Even those people who thought they had nothing left in them that was good, or decent. She saved J…from herself. Soooo…its like this. She loves the midget even _more_ than I do. You're on your own, there, Quinn."

"Oh dear."

"You've always been smart, Q. You'll figure it out. Look…you realized, in your own pathological way, how special Berry _really_ was back in high school, long before any of us. That's why you were such a spaz around her."

"I don't know…" She mused, as she headed towards the door.

"And Q?"

"Yes, Attorney Genereal Lopez?"

"Make no mistake. If you_ hurt_ Rachel again, I have no compunction about illegal activity. Don't think I don't know how to go all—

"…Lima Heights on my ass." Interrupted Quinn. "I _know_. Save the threats. Especially since it'd throw you into labor."

"Good. Love you, bitch."

"Love you too, bitch-back." Quinn grinned, as she stepped out the door.

XOXXOXO

Winning over Ms. J was a much more formidable challenge. She hadn't grown up with Quinn, unlike the others, and had less sympathy for her as a result. She only saw the very broken Rachel in the path of destruction that was Hurricane Quinn.

"I blame **_her_** for you marrying that stupid boob, Finn Hudson. What an anchor!"

"No one held a gun to my head, J." Rachel said, calmly.

"Hmm."

"Anyway, I'm here to deliver a message from Quinn."

"She can't bring her message herself?"

"Would you have let her in the door of the studio?"

"No." Admitted J. "What is it?"

"A challenge. She said, meet her here, tomorrow, 6pm. Dress like you would for class. Have a good afternoon snack."

"Oh, ho! A _challenge_?"

"Yep." Rachel nodded. "God help us all. See you then."

The next day brought a small crowd to the studio at NYADA. Mr. Muccino even catered the affair. A few of the senior students caught wind of the event, and all of Rachel's knights of the round table were assembled prominently on the sidelines.

It was almost a who's who of New York; the band of misfits had become, despite themselves, a very prominent bunch. With offspring. Mercedes and Sam were babysitting all of the baby Gleeks, including Freddie, who self-designated himself as the "assistant babysitter in charge." Artie manned the AV and lighting equipment like old times. Unbeknownst to them prior, Brad mysteriously appeared for piano accompaniment, and direction of the small orchestra, causing a few double takes from the crowd. Mike and Brittany had checked the floor and polished it earlier that morning, themselves.

The clock ticked, three after six p.m.

"Schwimmer!" Yelled J, insolently leaning over the bar. "Where's your woman? Is she _scared_?"

The door swung open with a bang. In walked Quinn. "_Hardly_. I was just checking to make sure there was an ambulance in the bay downstairs for you, for afterwards, July." Quinn dramatically entered, walking into the middle of the dance studio.

Wearing nothing but a simple black leotard with a simple black skirt, her blonde hair upswept and pinned together by a rose, she was stunning.

"Well," J said, nodding approval on her appearance. "Look at you! Guess what, Princess. You're going to have to do more than bring presentation to the table, Fabray. In this studio, in these walls, you have to bring…**_it."_**

They stood facing each other center in the studio. You could hear a pin drop. Quinn was slightly taller, and used her height to deliberately look down on J.

"Oh, shit." Said a young woman, having just entered, plopping down next to Kurt. She put a fistful of Mr. Muccino's cannoli's into her mouth and said, "Oh! Hi, Gay Kurt!"

"_Sugar Motta_! What are **you** doing here?" Kurt said, shocked.

"Rachel called me. She told me I would want to see this." She replied, shrugging.

"Why?"

"Hm, I don't know. I guess, 'cause I endowed Cassandra July's professorship."

"**_What_**?"

"Yeah, I know!" Sugar said, snorting. "Ol' Rach called me a several years back – they were going to can that Professor July of hers. She asked me to pump in some money to endow a professorship for her so they could tenure her – she didn't have that kinda cashflow back then – so I did! We needed a place to …um, how do I say…"divest" some funds? It worked out. Boy, I'm glad….this was before July got the Tony, of course. Aren't they a bunch of stupid poopieheads now! I bet they regret threatening to fire her now, huh?"

"_Six degrees of Rachel."_ Kurt whispered to Blaine.

"_No kidding!"_ He whispered back.

"Should be good, huh?" Sugar said, smacking her popcorn.

In the center of the dance floor, the two blonds, perfectly balanced, were staring each other down. Finally, Cassandra spoke. "What have you got for me today, Princess Peach?"

Quinn smirked.

"The _Paso_, of course. Ryupin & Khvorova. The World Superstars from 2005. I assume you know it?"

Ms. J's eyes widened. "The _Paso Doble?_ Are you sure, little girl?"

"I'm sure."

"Who, pray tell, is stupid enough to be your partner?" She said, scanning the males in the audience.

Quinn smirked again, walking up to her. Inappropriately close to her, she whispered in J's ear. "Why, _you, _ of course."

"Me?"

"Unless you wish to decline because you're scared."

J laughed, out loud.

Quinn shot back. "And of course, _I lead."_

A murmur broke amongst the crowd. Rachel smiled quietly. Santana, now disgustingly pregnant, was standing next to Rachel. She leaned over and whispered, "I told J not to do this..."

Rachel pshawed. "Really, San? J went to Julliard for dance, for God's sake! She interned with Ailey! She is the _most highly trained dancer _I know!"

"Yeah…but Quinn was the HBIC for Sue Sylvester for two years running - a feat never before and never since repeated. J doesn't stand a chance. You can't believe what Quinn can do when she sets her mind to it."

"We'll see."

Quinn threw her arms into the air, to begin. She was totally, completely, in character. Fire burned from her eyes. As she launched into the opening salvo, _the Arpel-_ she began stamping her heeled feet, and turning to walk in the opposite direction of J - Rachel felt a shiver run down her spine. She held her breath.

Really, the entire crowd, collectively, held their breath. For seven entire minutes.

The spectators realized they were viewing something they would never, ever see again- it would later be referred to as "**_the_** dance off- the best dancing at NYADA that NYADA students would never see" - and it was _amazing_. Riveting. Thrilling. Exhausting.

Santana leaned over to Rachel. "Is it wrong I'm getting turned on by this?"

"Um, no. I think I'm sweating, a little bit."

"Good. Glad its not just me. Since when did Quinn get ... so fucking hot?"

"Newsflash, Lopez: she's _always_ been hot."

"Oh."

"Hence my longtime dilemma in life."

"Ah-hah."

As Brad concluded the final bar, the two blondes glared at each other. Panting, and slightly disheveled, neither would back down. The crowd broke into a standing ovation, which they ignored.

The brunettes made their way over to the women.

"Wonderful dancing, ladies!"

"Yeah, you almost put me into labor!"

Quinn finally broke her stare, in order to smile at Rachel.

"Well, Ms. July?" Rachel asked hesitantly.

"Well," She said, grabbing a towel, daubing her forehead. "She's a better dancer than you, that's for sure. I suppose...hm. I would have to say…she doesn't suck."

Rachel beamed. "Good job, Quinn!"

Quinn nodded her head in acknowledgement, towards the professor. "You're pretty...amazing, actually, Professor July. Certainly a better dancer than my ex-husband."

J rolled her eyes.

"**_Ay dios mio_**!" Exclaimed Santana. "I think, unless the ceiling broke, this puddle of water around my feet suggests..._I better get the fuck to the hospital_, stat!"

"I knew it!" J exclaimed, clapping. "A future dancer- the baby loves the Paso Doble!"

"C'mon, everyone!" Exclaimed Rachel, excitedly. "Let's go have a baby!" She ignored the glare from the Latina, as she linked her arm around hers and kissed her on the cheek, moving her towards the exit.

"_Santana owes a dollar to the swear jar, Mercedes." _Freddie whispered to her.

She whispered back. "_Oooh. Honey, let me tell you. After tonight, we're gonna need a bigger jar."_

XOXOXOOX

Quinn followed Rachel up the stairs, heart pounding.

Her mouth felt dry.

She felt drunk- sort of. She felt as though she would lose control of her bladder. And she was sweating.

Perhaps this is what nerve gas feels like...Pondered Quinn.

As Rachel looked back at Quinn, she became a little alarmed. "Quinn, are you okay? You don't look so good."

"I...I'm..." She said, flushing.

"Do need some water?"

"I think so."

Rachel went downstairs to fetch some ice water, and Quinn raced to her bathroom and brushed her teeth and rinsed in lightening speed. She fluffed her hair. "Get it together, Fabray." She muttered.

Bemused, Rachel set the glass next to her on the bathroom ledge. "Your water, Quinn." And she exited towards the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Damn it! Thought Quinn. How long was she standing there?

After collecting herself, she opened the door, entering her own bedroom nervously. Inside, she was shocked to see a _completely naked_ Rachel Berry sitting primly under the covers of her bed.

"I…uh." Quinn said.

Rachel smiled. "Quinn. This is nothing unfamiliar, nothing new between us…other than what I suppose will be your faint trace of a British accent when I make you come." She flashed her megawatt smile again. "Now, stop standing _all the way over there,_ just staring. "

Quinn swallowed. "But it **_is_**, Rachel. It is different. It seems…well. This feels … very different, to me."

"It doesn't feel like anything to me other than you standing way over there."

Quinn looked down, and shook her head.

Rachel hesitated. Her voice shaking, slightly, she said, "Unless…unless you're thinking, you actually don't want to _start_, this…."

Quinn's eyes slammed upwards, meeting Rachel's. Rachel was startled by just how much intensity burned behind those hazel eyes.

"_Don't want to start_, Rachel? Really?" She laughed, vacantly.

Crossing the room, Quinn quickly threw off her clothes carelessly, and she pushed Rachel down, forcefully, on the bed. Leaning over her, pinning her down by her shoulders, Quinn Fabray looked down meaningfully at the small brunette trapped underneath her. She quirked her eyebrow.

"You think the problem is that I question… _wanting to start_?" Quinn growled.

With a startling fury, Quinn swooped down, pressing her body against Rachel's. Quinn's lips bit down on Rachel's tender neck, where she sucked, and bit , and laved her tongue, hard– leaving a deeply violet mark that tingled with a little pain on Rachel's skin. Quinn put her lips close to Rachel's ear, and hissed with a determined intention to the shivering woman underneath her.

"No, _my dear Rachel._ My concern is that not that of wanting to start. Rather, my concern is that I _won't know how to stop_…**ever, **once I do."

Glancing into Rachel's startled large brown eyes one last time, Quinn passionately kissed the full lips she had been dreaming of for so many years, with the fury of a someone presented with food after having been starved after being at sea for many, many years. Rachel let out a guttural moan, underneath the torrential fury of kisses, and did the only thing she could.

She pulled Quinn closer into her.

**TBC.**


	13. Chapter 13: The Gift

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

**Pairing(s):** Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

**Rating**: No holds barred. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, or motherhood in general. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required.

**Summary**: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N:** Wow, I'm blown away the response- thank you. I'm glad that you folks are interested. And as always, thanks for the constructive criticism-I've used several points in re-editing, and I appreciate the time you take to read this and post reviews.

**Chapter 13: The Gift.**

A slightly flustered Quinn opened the door.

"Gosh-are you a sight for sore eyes… thanks for coming over early, Rach!" Quinn said, giving the little brunette a peck on the cheek. "I promise, I won't be gone longer than two hours, three tops, tonight."

"So, where is my little boyfriend?"

"He's skyping with his dad in the study. They're finishing up some sort of marathon game of Yatzee."

"Okay."

The two women headed towards the study, hearing furious rolling and even more furious cussing. "Blimey! Dad, the _women_ are here- no money, okay?"

"I heard that, Fredrick!" Quinn said, sternly, from the other room.

Rachel laughed.

The computer speaker squawked. "Freddie? Is that mum? Can you grab her for me?"

"_Maaaaaaa_!"He yelled. "Dad wants you!"

Quinn walked into the room, however over the monitor, said in disgust, "Why? Why don't children ever _just walk over_ and come get you-in a** civilized** manner? Why _must_ they yell like banshees?"

Quinn watched him chuckle on the monitor.

"Why are you laughing? Is that _sooooo _impossible of a task?"

Appearing onto the screen, Freddie's Great-Gran waved hello.

"Hello, Quinn, dear. Sadly, it doesn't change when they get older, Quinn," she said, giving a withering glare to her grandson next to her. "I have a theory…It's actually just a Y chromosome phenonomia."

Quinn laughed, nodding in agreement.

"You were summoned because I need to talk to you, Quinn" the older woman said, solemnly. She glared at her grandson, until he said, "Well, that's my cue. Bye, Quinn." He promptly exited.

"Um..okay." calling into the other room, Quinn called for Rachel. "Rach! Would you mind taking Freddie early for a bath? I need to talk on skype for a minute."

Rachel walked into the study, hoisting Freddie into her arms, who kissed her on the cheek. "No problem, Quinn."

The older woman called out. "_Wait a minute!_ Come back here, young lady!"

Rachel silently gestured to Quinn, motioning to ask, "Me?" Quinn nodded, equally puzzled. Rachel walked back into view, and waived as much as she could while holding an 80-pound boy aloft.

Squinting, the matriarch said, "Is that _Rachel Berry_ I see?"

"Yes, Gran, that's Rachel Berry." Confirmed Quinn.

"So it IS true!"

"What's true?" Asked Rachel, nervously, anticipating quite an uncomfortable question.

"The reason Quinn isn't _so damn pitchy _in church_,_ anymore! So…she has been canoodling with the eminent Rachel Berry, my favorite modern-day soprano. Actually, the only one today worth mentioning, in my estimation." The older woman declared, winking. "Glad to see you've been rubbing off on my grand-daughter, Ms. Berry."

"Gran, that's a pound in the swear jar," Quinn admonished. "And, furthermore, I resent it!"

"Well, it's true." Both women said, in unison.

From across the screen, Rachel and the formidable lady looked at each other for a beat, and then… they_ jinked_ each other and argued over _who owed whom_ the coke for a good two minutes. Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Rach..." Quinn reminded gently. "The bath?"

"Oh right! Lovely to make your acquaintance, your majesty."

"You as well, my dear. Please come visit, sometime. I've been a fan since, forever. And you were robbed on Tony, time number 6, if I do say so myself."

Rachel shuttled the protesting Freddie upstairs, who in between protests, was able to simultaneously reassure Rachel that SHE won the coke. Quinn watched them, smiling, as they took their animated selves up the stairs.

A voice on the computer shook her out of her revere. "Quinn!" The older woman said, sternly.

"Oh, I'm sorry! You were saying?"

"She's lovely, Quinn. Now, then. I just recently caught wind of something. Quinn… I wanted to talk to you about the divorce papers."

Quinn looked puzzled. "But I sent those back, a long time ago!"

"I know, I know, _I know_...Quinn. My dear, you are aware, correct, that you waived alimony?"

"Yes."

"Which begs the question..."

"Uh-hum?"

"Quinn, my dear…are you experimenting with_ drugs_?"

Quinn laughed heartily. "No, Gran. I just don't need alimony. You _did_ hear I got a job, right? I'm the assistant editor of the _New Yorker_ Magazine!"

"I heard." she pursed her lips.

Sensing her concern, Quinn continued. "Gran...I'm paid _a lot_ in child support. He's been very generous. Freddie wants for nothing. We have a good life. I promise…I will let you know if he needs anything. Plus he'll be there this summer, and you can spoil him within an inch of his life then!"

The older woman_ harumpfed_, and said, "But, Quinn, what about _you_?"

"I'm fine. Really. I promise. Stop looking so skeptical, it will give you wrinkles."

Shortly thereafter, the older woman would ultimately disregard Quinn completely. Despite Quinn's protests, she saw to it that monthly stipend, bordering on obscene, was drawn from her personal account, and placed into Quinn's directly.

In the distant future, Quinn's accountant would threaten to have a deliberate heart attack if Quinn didn't address the issue with the balance. He would say, almost daily, "Quinn you have to do _something_ with that money. Move it overseas. Invest it. Something! We're going to get _killed_ this tax season!" Much to his shock, it appeared she actually listened. "I have an idea for the money..." she would say, finally, with a devilish grin on her face.

However, in the present, Quinn simply put on her cap and scarf, and trundled up for the blistering cold of New York, as she gathered her materials and headed out into the night. This time, she was longer than three hours, but at long last, Quinn had finally completed her task. For once, the un-appeasable Quinn Fabray was finally done… much to her satisfaction.

XOXOXOXOX

Quinn gripped Rachel's hair, pulling it, until her gaze was directed squarely on Quinn.

"You do realize, what taking this step means?" She said, in a deliberate manner. She pressed her center into Rachel, feeling the heat…the wetness. "Do you understand, Rachel?"

She gripped the hair, tightly, and pressed a commanding kiss onto her parted lips. In a deliberately carnal manner, she forced her tongue into Rachel's mouth. She swirled her tongue, demanding entrance; she flicked the hungry flange on Rachel's bottom lip and then …_bit it_, hard.

"Ouch!" Rachel admonished.

Quinn grinned, salaciously. "Did that hurt, little girl?"

"Not as much as…_this!"_ Rachel said, raising her hand, and bringing it down, as it made a loud slapping echo, onto Quinn's ass.

"Why you little…"Quinn attempt to grab for Rachel, but she slithered off the bed, quickly. However, before she could stand to bolt away, Quinn had tackled her around the midsection, and she went tumbling on the floor. They continued to wrestle, fighting for dominance, as though their life depended on it.

Rachel was unsure if they were serious…or kidding….or what. What she was sure of, however, is that she was ridiculously turned on.

Quinn wedged her knee between Rachel's legs, using her weight, swung Rachel over, so she landed squarely on her back on the floor. Quinn used her hips to keep Rachel pinned, and she grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head. Pressing them down with one arm, she let her right hand trail down Rachel's' body.

She touched her hair…her lips. She caressed a loose strand and tucked it behind Rachel's ear. She trailed down her neck, rubbing the spot where she had left a mark earlier…she touched her collarbone, grazing it gently.

She glanced, lazily, up at Rachel, who looked entranced. "Breathe, Rachel." She reminded.

Not realizing she had been holding her breath, Rachel exhaled. "Are you going to keep me pinned down, Quinn?"

"For now."

"I'm surprised you haven't tied me up, big bad wolf."

"Hmm. Perhaps …later."

Quinn's hand trailed down, caressing Rachel's breast. Rachel's breath hitched again, and she quivered, as Quinn's deliberate caress caused Rachel's nipple to harden under its ministrations. Once pebbled, Quinn pinched it.

"Oh!" Rachel exclaimed.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No…you just surprised me, I think."

"**_Mmm_**." Quinn massaged the breast, gripping it to a point; and then she leaned her head over, and placed her warm mouth on Rachel. She engulfed Rachel's wanting breast, and she sucked firmly, while cradling the mound with her hand, massaging it firmly.

"Ohmigod…oh, Quinn, you feel….so good."

Quinn had released Rachel's arms, and snaked her other hand to Rachel's other breast, and was kneading it with her fingers, rolling the nipple.

Rachel began to squirm underneath the blonde and her impassioned efforts. Quinn applied more deliberate force against Rachel's center; and she began to move her body, undulating against the woman underneath her.

The feel of Rachel, completely willing, underneath her, was absolutely intoxicating to Quinn. Her head began to pound.

Still sucking the nipple with force, Quinn slid her hand down, to Rachel's leg, extending it, and slid her hand down the length of the toned leg. She stroked the back of Rachel's knee, and again, Rachel shuddered against Quinn.

"Oh, God, Quinn….oh God…." She gasped.

Quinn quickly removed her lips from the red and angry nipple, and moved upwards to hold herself aloft, looking her directly in the eyes. As she opened her mouth to speak, she slid her fingertips, just slightly, down to the opening between Rachel's folds.

Quinn's fingertips danced in and out of the wetness; just enough to sample Rachel's desire, to begin to feel her, opening wide, for Quinn. _Craving_ her. Circling her entrance, just to prove her desire in its moist arousal….

Quinn cocked her head to the side. "Rachel." She husked. "Look at me."

Rachel's very unfocused eyes made an effort to center on the sound of Quinn's voice. Rachel was just as drunk on this …lust…as Quinn knew herself to be; but she needed Rachel to focus. "Rachel!" She said more sternly.

"Yes, Quinn, I'm right here. What is it?" She replied, annoyed at the distraction.

Quinn looked intensely down at Rachel. "Whatever I once was—or wasn't—no longer matters. Perhaps I'm stronger now, or weaker, I suppose, in a sense; regardless, I know one thing…"

She paused to make sure Rachel was really listening.

"…I know that I cannot be without you, Rachel, ever again. I've allowed myself to imagine what my life would look like, with you in it…and I simply can't…" her voice broke.

Quinn looked in horror as a tear fell, landing on Rachel's cheek, below her. Then another. Willing herself to stop, it had the opposite effect, as more and more fell. Then, she could no longer control them …. Her emotions….anything. She started to brokenly sob.

Then, miraculously, she felt Rachel's arms wrap around her, engulfing her; warmth filled Quinn, and soothed her, from the inside, out. It felt like nothing she had ever experienced before. It felt like…

_Love._

She was openly sobbing now, amidst Rachel's soothing embrace. After a moment, Rachel rubbed Quinn's cheek, then holding her head firmly, lifted her head to look her in the eyes again. Quinn saw no mocking, no revenge, no gloating, or horror; she only saw the warm brown eyes of Rachel Berry, shining back at her.

Rachel kissed her on the forehead, and Quinn collapsed into Rachel's arms, sighing.

"I know how hard this is, for you, Quinn. No one ever taught you that you are worth loving, Quinn. But you are. And so much more than that, even."

"But how can you be so sure, Rachel?"

"I have to be sure, Quinn."

"Why?"

"Because…you are MY person to love, Quinn. I have no choice."

She smiled ruefully as she stroked Quinn's hair, until Quinn calmed down. The blonde lifted her head and asked, "Do you believe in destiny, Rachel?"

"Well, I believe by my earlier comments, it would seem so."

Quinn smiled, shaking her head. "I knew, the minute I met you, with that horrible argyle sweater and your penny loafers and that gaudy animal head band, that I was destined…._destined!_ To **love **you, Rachel Berry. I was only fourteen years old."

"Mm. And I believe you threw a cherry slushie on said head band the same day."

"I've apologized for that, Rachel."

"I wasn't asking for an apology, Quinn."

Quinn grimaced. "It…_what I felt for you_… scared the hell out of me."

"The cherry slushie scared the hell out of me."

"Rachellll!" Whined Quinn.

"_Quinnnn_!" Rachel whined back. "Look, Quinn, we can lay here, naked, continuing to belabor the past. We can muse about your seriously repressed and fucked-up youth, lamenting all the missed opportunities to develop this chemistry we so obviously have together. We can ponder, '_why we didn't do it in a more healthy and positive way?'_…but you know what? _We didn't_. So, as I see it, we can sit around and stew in our juices about how fucked up the past was, **_or_**…" Rachel said, while emphasizing her point by wrapping her legs around Quinn's waist, and pulling their centers tightly together, "…we can move **_past it,_** and get on with the part where we **_fuck each other silly_**, as I had _hoped _we were doing… before you went all Oprah on my ass. So what will it be, Quinn Fabray?"

"It doesn't scare you, a little?"

Exasperated, Rachel said, "**_What?"_**

"_Me."_

"You?" Rachel sighed. "Yes, of course! You scare the absolute crap out of me. As I mentioned, though_, I have no choice_. My heart picked you, long ago. You're my person. So you better grow the fuck up, Quinn, because I'm hitching my sail to yours. This is it."

Quinn smiled. "Okay, then." And she started to kiss Rachel.

Rachel pushed her off. "That's it? All that angst, and then poof! You're okay?"

Quinn smiled again. "Yes, Rachel. I think…I have faith in me, Rachel, because YOU have faith in me."

"Okay, whatever. Is this the part where we finally fuck, Quinn?"

"Yes, Rachel. This is that part."

"Okay, good."

"I love you, Rachel."

"I love you back."

XOXOXO

Rachel felt herself being shaken. Slow to rouse, she finally startled awake.

"Rachel!" Quinn urged. "Wake up!"

"Oh God, what time is it, Quinn? Are you okay?" Rachel groggily looked around the room, trying to focus on a clock.

"I'm better than okay. I'm done!"

"Done? With what?"

"With this." Quinn said, as she thrust forward a box to Rachel.

"What is it?"

Shyly, Quinn bowed her head. "It's for you, Rachel. Its what I've been working on, all this time. I finished it, tonight. Rachel, I…well, um. It's my gift…._to you."_


	14. Chapter 14: Rachel Opens Her Gift

**Title: The Shell Collector**

Author: Ladyfun9

Rating: M, NC-17

Characters/Pairings – Quinn/Rachel with a later Pezberry friendship (why? BECAUSE, damn it).

Kinks: f/f goodness

Perfunctory disclaimer: Obvs, I don't own Glee, the characters, the English monarchy, the New York DA's office, the New Yorker magazine - this is all for good clean non-profit fun.

A/N: thanks for the reviews - because of your slightly frightening demands for the big reveal...with the box, I moved a few chapters around. I can see delayed gratification will not work well with this crowd...

**Chapter Next: Rachel Opens Her Gift**

Rachel opened the front door to a harried and especially irritable Santana.

"Hello, San. Thanks for coming - I really could have come downtown, down to your DA office."

"It's not safe right now." She said grimly. "However, I expect some eats, midget, in return."

"Naturally." Rachel chucked, ambling into the kitchen and pulling the cover off the tray she had ready for her friend. She placed it in the microwave, and Santana impatiently yanked it out before it was reheated and started woofing it down.

"Um...when was the last time you ate, San?"

"_Mregfff_." She said, mouth full. "Mgh...I dunno. Yesterday?" She continued to shovel heaping scoops into her mouth, barely chewing. "_Damn_, this shit's _good_. This reeks of Fabray. It doesn't have that classic "from a box" feel that is Rachel Berry."

"Hey!"

Rachel watched her friend, sadly, thinking she never thought she'd live to see the day when she realized Cassandra July gave someone..._humanity _Santana, finished inhaling her food, and was licking her fingers. "God, that was good. 'Kay, I have roughly fifteen minutes. What's up?"

"Have you talked to them? J and Bea?"

"What the fuck about the term 'witness protection' is it that don't you understand, Berry? NO, I haven't talked to them."

"I don't think that, technically, Mr. Muccino's...um...'old world aquaitances' with their bags of lime and shovels _technically_ constitutes official govenrment witness protection, honey."

"Nope." Growled Santana. "But it's a _fuck of a lot_ safer than the dumbshits who actually do it. Where they're at now, wherever that is, I know they're safe. And I can sleep...at night. And do my job." Rachel took a long hard look at the haggard woman before her. Santana had taken on the Taliban-esque drug cartel smuggling high grade poppy products into the US via the port of New York...justice, that had failed to be rendered by the the monolithic and occasionally lumbering federal government equivilant.

It was understandable. People who attempted to stand in they way of this well-funded group, unencumbered with pesky and burdensome moral or ethical behavior, usually ended up, dead.._._if found _at all._

So, people tended to look the other way, or took an easier path by making feeble attempts at prosecution, or aimed for easier targets. However, the results of this indecision were horrifying to anyone with a conscious. The wildly potent synthetic blend products being put onto the U.S. market were cut at random intervals deliberately with poisons. These substances would vary in type, so it was virtually impossible to anticipate what to screen...they had ranged from organophosphates, physiostygmine bromide, to formaldehyde, and everything in-between. Those were just the few that had been identified. Lots of kids that would have become recreational users or even just plain old eventual addicts were now veering down an entirely unforseen and inexorable ending- uniformally becoming brain damaged or dead if the unlucky receipent of the chemical lottery.

A disproportionate number of those cases were New York adolescents, and Santana Lopez was absoutely **_done_** with it... Especially when one of these "Russian roulette" cases was discovered as Jessica Mendonza, Cassandra's youngest niece. She had always been the black sheep of the family, wild and borderline psychotic...but in the larger picture, she didn't deserve to die for a chemical dependence that she had tried to quit, but failed. And the tragidy of the situation was not lost on Santana.

You don't piss off Santana Lopez.

Thus, she spoke these days with the weight of the world on her shoulders. "What do you need, midget?"

"So, we -Quinn and I-need some help."

"I have 7 minutes and you're going to make me fucking intuit what you need here at Hobbit Hollow?" She growled. "And is there any dessert?"

As Rachel served up her apple rhubarb crisp with vanilla bean ice cream, which Santana eyed suspiciously-only eating it after Rachel reassured her it _wasn't_ vegan- and was in fact, leftover, from Quinn's PTA brunch. Santana's eyes rolled to the back of her head. "Had I know Quinn could cook like this, I might have snuck into that spandex before you got your teeny tiny claws into her..."

"I cultivated her, lady. She wasn't much of a catch before me, remember?"

"Yes, I do." Chuckled the Latina. "You have a point. Now...spill, Berry. _For reals_."

"Harvard Law didn't introduce actual _grammer_ into your syntax?"

"Nope."

"Well, this issue... its a small contract dispute, with Quinn's employer."

"Um-_hmm_."

"_Um_, their interpretation of ownership of any written intellectual property generated by Quinn during her tenure at the magazine ...um, you see, she recently gave me a present... she wrote something for me.."

"Oh- Kay..."

"San," gushed the Diva, "it's_ amazing_!"

"Wonderful. So fucking what?"

"Well, you see, unless some brilliant lawyer...or _something..._can find a loophole around this 'exclusivity clause' she has with the New Yorker magazine, well, it won't see the light of day."

"So, why can't you publish it there?"

"Because her editor says **_no_**."

"There's lots of reasons editors say no. Let me ask you...is it because its crap?"

"Counselior, I know crap... and this ma'am, is no crap!" Said Rachel, shaking her head emphatically.

"And you're _sure_ you're not biased?"

"Of course I am, but _not about this._ Its the best literature I've read in years. People wait a lifetime to experience something like this."

"Well, damn. A lifetime, huh? So, they wont ink it? That's ignorant. Begs the question...**why?"**

"Because they know exactly _how_ great it is...and they _know_ it will be the beginning of the end."

"Ah." Santana said comprehending. "Keepin' the man down."

"Exactly."

"Let me guess..this ...literature is a...?"

"A three-act play."

"And...it would be a vehicle that would star... Rachel Berry?"

"The one and only!"

Santana nodded, morphing into the feared proscuter, instantly. "Well, if I was a bettin' woman, Rachel, I'm guessing they'll go after her for something called "fundamental breach of contract"...defending it easily depends on the actual contract itself. I need to see it."

"Well, I took the small liberty of... _well_, um, right here!" Rachel pulled out the papers.

Santana smirked. "This will require _another_ slice of that crisp."

"Your price has gone up, counselor. And a latte?"

"Natch."

She read and chewed, and then she grinned, and laughed, almost sinisterly... "Oh Rach, you _really_ need to give me something hard, next time. So, this is what we call an "indefinate" contract, basically an _agreement_ to _agree_.. as such the terms are indefinite."

"Oh no! That sounds bad!"

"No... that sounds like Christmas for Quinn. Or Passover ... Or Kwaanza, or _whatever the fuck_ you celebrate, here at Hobbit Hollow. The indefinate agreement, by definition, is unenforcable! This is a piece of cake."

"What? _How_?"

Santana got up and patted the smaller woman on the head. "Don't you worry about that, little lady. I'll take care of this tommorow."

Rachel threw herself into Santana's arms. "Thank you, San!"

She hugged her back. "For you, anything. Just say whatever the frig the Jewish equivalant is for a novena... for my girls, and well call it even."

"You have yourself a deal."

XOXOXOXOXO

"Ohmigod, Quinn,** deeper.**..please. God. Please, _don't stop_..."

Rachel was laying, face down, rear elevated high in the air, with Quinn mounting her from behind. Quinn, with sweat dripping from her brow, was plunging the Feel-Doe deep into Rachel's wet, slippery, and very very wide, orifice.

Quinn thrusted her pelvis forward, the quiet humming from the vibrator motor the only noise truly audible in the room, aside from the sweaty women's grunts or moans, or the hard pounding as flesh connected with flesh.

The blonde repositioned her grip on Rachel's sholders, to enable her to thrust with more torque from behind. "God, I love watching your ass, as I pound you from behind, _Rrrachelll_..." Quinn growled.

"Ummph, yes...please. Do me..._ fuck m_e, from behind, Quinn, _Fuck me_..."

Quinn threw her weight forward, slamming her center as hard as she could, into Rachel. Rachel gasped, bracing herself so she didn't slam into the headboard with the violent thrusts impaling her from her backside. Quinn then deftly balanced herself on one arm, and slid her hand around to Rachel's front side, finding the swollen bead of Rachel's abused clit. It had been used, hard, through this evening already.

"Are you _sore_, Rachel?"

"I'm **so** sore, Quinn..."

"Sore from where I _fucked you_ all night?" She panted.

"Yes, Quinn."

"Do you want me to stop fucking you? Stop fucking your poor little abused hole?"

"No! Don't you dare stop...don't you..._ohhhh!"_ Rachel could feel the warmth tingling as it radiated from the inside, out. She felt her center, clenching in response to Quinn's deliberate thrusts, and knew she was going to come, soon. And _hard._

She was twitting with need, and she nearly lost it, when Quinn started to tweak her clit, eventually pinching it firmly. _"Yes_, Quinn,**_ please_**.."

Quinn started to grind the nub, with fury, feeling its swollen hood bulging, as it danced to her touch. Obsessed, she rubbed down,_ harder_.

"'Yes, Quinn,' _what_?" Demanded Quinn, with a distinctly feral tone.

"Please fuck me..._ please fuck me_..."Gasped Rachel.

Quinn redoubled her efforts, pounding into Rachel's opening, pulling on her clit...with her other hand, she began to pinch Rachel's nipples, alternating from one breast to the other in rapid succession. She was balancing her full upper torso on Rachel, and Rachel was forced to prop both of them up, holding with her arms, that soon began to quiver.

"_Hold me up_, you little **fuck** machine..." Ordered Quinn. "You better let me finish _**pounding** _your wet hole until I decide to take your ass in my mouth...and push my tounge into your anal opening...and then full-on, decide to f_uck you, _up your **_ass_**, Rachel..."

The dirty talk was too much for the Diva. She loved it. She loved hearing the perfect Quinn Fabray, reduced to such a carnal animal...because of her. It aroused her to unspeakable levels. She loved transforming Quinn into something _so base_, with her utter desire and uncontrolled need to be i**nside** Rachel... against everything that she had been taught to want. Thinking of Quinn Fabray's unadulterated lust, need, _craving_...Rachel's vaginal walls started to quivering.

_I do this to Quinn Fabray.._.thought Rachel. _Me. I do this. I make her want this...want me. The touch of MY body makes her want to start fucking me, against her instincts. My body makes her so base, makes her want to... **never stop**... being inside me..._

Rachel's vaginal walls spasmed around the punishing vibrator, and she began coming, with a violent fury she couldn't control. She gripped her pillows, while trying to hold her weight up... pushing up...

Fluid was everywhere... She yelled out so loudly, without realizing it, that Quinn had to cover her mouth. "_What the hell?_ Are you trying to wake up Freddie?" But of course, Quinn didn't stop thrusting...and as a result, Rachel continued to orgasm, pelvis bucking...

Rachel was sobbing, crying out; she couldn't control her body, her mind...the feeling was too overwhelming. Yet Quinn didn't stop, Quinn _wouldn't_ stop...she forced Rachel to have it, to have _all of it._ She kept thrusting, hitting that rough spot in back of Rachel's deepest area that caused her to shake so violently, and to feel so much, _everywhere_. She hit it, and hit it _hard._ And Quinn Would. Not. Stop.

Quinn kept up her deliberate ministrations on Rachel's clit, grinding furiously aginst the abused nub, that was red, cracked, and angry. Despite the abuse from so much attention over the long evening, it was still tingling with pure release; and the Rachel felt explosion of her fluid, everywhere, soaking the sheets...it was too much, _so much_...so Rachel...and Quinn...and everything. Quinn was biting her, she thought she might have drawn blood from her shoulder...

"_Yesssss_, Quinn, oh, God...I'm ...yes,** fuck**, yes...I'm..."

"You're, what? Rachel?" Quinn jerked and pulled both of Rachel's nipples with force, as she slammed the slick Feeldoe into Rachel's hole, sliding in easily due to the lubrication of Rachel's ejaculate. It only made Quinn, somehow, despite her exhaustion, go _faster._

Rachel shuddered, one final time.

And then..._Rachel passed out;_ Quinn, her _**own**_ body violently shaking, continued to thrust into her, while above her...tirelessly, like a woman possessed.

XOXOXO

Quinn entered her loft, annoyed again from work. As she took her coat off, and wandered into the kitchen wondering where the crisp went, she slumped, defeated, in her chair. Hands reached around from behind, grabbing the blonde's shoulders.

"_Holy shit_, Rachel! You scared the fuck outta me!"

Rachel started massaging the tight shoulders in front of her. "Annoying day at work, Quinn?"

"You could say that again." The exhaused assistant editor, sighed.

Rachel pursed her lips and said, "_Nah_...don't really wanna. Good thing Santana got you _out of that contract_..I suppose, so I _don't_ have to say it again!"

"_**What**_?"

"Yep."

"How?"

Rachel smiled. "I believe her exact quote was, _'I made them cry for their mamas'_ and I'm not sure what that means in a legal sense, but I think the statement speaks for itself."

After Rachel was sure the first part settled, she then offered, "Oh, and Quinn? She also got them to give you some sort of a settlement package."

"WHAT?"

"I know, _I know_...Santana moves in mysterious ways. Anyhow, what this means, is...Quinn, we can start looking into backers for your play!"

"Wow. This really is..." Quinn's voice trailed off, with what as has been termed in the past, _'the audacity of hope.'_ Quinn attempting to finish, ultimately choking up. "..Rach, this is..."

"...an _unexpected_ gift." Finished Rachel. "I know. In **_so_** many ways." She looked at Quinn, eyes glistening.

Quinn, the author who had penned words so brilliant for her muse, was speechless. Rachel smiled, understanding.

"Thank you, Quinn. _Really._ Thank you."

**TBC**


	15. Chapt 15: After A Storm, Comes A Rainbow

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

Rating: M/NC-17 –esque ratings. That's how I roll…

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British Monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, or motherhood in general. Bags of Lime and Shovels, Eton, Oxford, or Lima Ohio. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N: My Gratitude for the reviews, and the time you all have been taking to read this – **this is the fastest I think I've ever gotten 100 reviews (if that's ever happened before, I'm unsure! Not a big metrics person, here).I'm not sure what hair got up my ass, but I just imagined Rachel doing the painful walk on the red carpet, with a broken heart and internal running dialogue one day, and it sort of took off from there—I don't know how the monarchy and crackheads got involved. I REALIZE this is wildly AU. It is what it is, but thanks for taking a really, really implausible leap of faith with me. (But then again, so are dead zombies, and g!p, but hey…we love it anyway.) **A shout out to : **laylarei , w1cked, AnonBiggie, and LaurenKnight13 – thanks for the running commentary, you make my day!

**Chapter 15: After A Storm, Comes A Rainbow**

It was amusing, really, if one thought about it. Quinn was generally oblivious to the fact she was actually famous- _really famous_. Two years prior, she was the most photographed international face during that calendar year. Yet, she was totally oblivious to it, for the most part. One time, Becky had asked her about it, how she could just "poof!"—forgetting about the fact she was being stalked.

Quinn thought about it. "Hmmm, that's an excellent question. I guess I don't pay attention to it…"

"To what?"

"To the attention."

"_Why_? How on earth do you _not?"_

The classically beautiful woman crooked her head, deep in thought; she finally responded after a long moment.

"I think, Becks, its because I haven't _done_ anything - to my mind, anyway, that is _that_ extraordinary. I haven't done anything that **_should _**earn me that degree of famousness. I got married. Big deal. People do that, every damn day. So, I guess I think since I haven't earned attention, I don't think about it…because I don't deserve it."

"Huh." Becky replied. She was the most unusual and _honest_ Royal she had ever worked for…and that effortless charm was part of the reason she adored Quinn Fabray. The Queen wouldn't be the only one who would be heartbroken when the girl from America eventually packed her bags to leave.

Rachel Barbara Berry, on the other hand, worked her small ass off for that right. In fact, she had worked herself practically to death at times, just for the opportunity to see her name in lights, _earning _the right to be on Broadway. Everything Rachel got, she had to scrap to get – her looks, her fame, her position and standing amongst the Broadway elite. She adored the attention she reaped for her hard work and long struggles of defying expectations and stereotypes. In direct contrast, Quinn was…._Quinn_. People fell over themselves to see her – and she could care less if she was seen.

Polar opposites.

Long gone was the Quinn Fabray, HBIC at McKinley High, who demanded everyone recognize who she was…so they would _back off_, and leave her alone. As she grew into adulthood, she evolved back into a more healthy version of her true self, into a shy, introverted woman who still just wanted _to be left alone_. Quinn **often** forgot she was famous, and Rachel never forget she was famous – after all, she had _earned_ the right to remember.

So, it came as a surprise the morning after, when Rachel Berry left Quinn and Freddie's place, ostensibly doing the adult version of the collegiate "walk of shame" home from Quinn's after a long night of revelations, debauchery, and discovery of each others' bodies, that she _forgot_ she was famous.

Again...Rachel Berry _forgot_ that she was **famous.**

She forgot that where she was and whom she did was, bizarrely, of national interest. So the fact she strolled, dazed, out of Quinn's building with a dopey grin on her face, and JBF hair, walking with a speed that was anything other than purposeful—well, that was just asking for it. Rachel didn't pay any attention to the sudden flash of lightbulbs, which would prove to be a near fatal mistake.

_Click!_

"Rachel!"

"Ms. Berry, over here!"

_Snap! Click!_

Rachel glared at the lights. She gulped, with realization.

_Shit!_ She thought. _Paps! _

"That's not your apartment, Rachel!"

"Hey! Who were you visiting?"

"Does your ex-husband know you spent the night somewhere, Rachel?"

"Who's the rebound? What's his name?"

Her heart was pounding as she picked up her step. She tried to walk quicker, but they were starting to block her pathway. Descending into her personal space, there was _no where_ for her to go, and not a cop in sight.

"Please, leave me alone-"

_Click!_ More flashes, multiplied. Three people became twenty, then more.

Rachel was being pushed. Hard. An obese man stood directly in her way and she could smell his disgusting breath. "Who are you fucking, Princess?" He laughed as he got in her face.

Suddenly, the offense Pap who had been physically i_n her face_, went down. Crouching on the sidewalk, he howled, "**Arrg!** My eyes!" As he dropped his camera to grasp his face in pain, the man adjacent to him soon had a similar reaction.

"_Ouch!_ What the fuck?"

Rachel felt thin fingers wrap around her wrist, tightly, and clamp down. She then felt herself being yanked, firmly, away from the crowd.

"Rachel Berry, you're lucky I was out for my morning jog!" A familiar voice, overly formal, called out, deliberately offering explanation for show.

_Quinn. _

Quinn, the girl who cared nothing about fame or being famous, remembered what it meant to be the most famous face photographed. Instinct told her to check on Rachel after she said goodbye and left. Instincts forced her to act, in that pivotal moment, to extract Rachel out of that situation.

The girl who never paid attention was now presciently in sensory overdrive, alive with worry. Quinn yanked Rachel from the throng of photographers, two of whom Quinn had just pepper sprayed. By the time the startled photographers realized the identity of the celebrity's famous rescuer, it would be too late.

They were gone.

They escaped into the interior confines of the secure front entrance of Quinn's penthouse building. "Oh! God! Thank…_thank you,_ Quinn…" Rachel said, clearly shaken up.

Quinn rubbed Rachel's arms, gently. "You act like this is your first rodeo, cowgirl. You should have left from the back…or called your security detail. Never the front door, honey." She grinned, and put one arm around Rachel. Hugging the smaller woman closer, she whispered into her ear. "Guess you'll just have to come back up to my place to wait, until your security detail can get here..." She husked meaningfully into her ear. Rachel shivered, her face flushing. She felt herself getting wet inexplicably from just the whispered words the blonde had uttered into her ear.

As they waited for the elevator, Quinn pulled Rachel closer to her, and pulled Rachel's body closer to hers. Pressing their centers together, Quinn looked down intently at the lips of Rachel Berry.

Her breath caught slightly.

Her eyes darkened, immediately.

Her lids lowered, and her mouth captured those swollen red lips in a deep, meaningful kiss.

When Rachel let out an involuntary moan, it spurred Quinn to kiss her harder. Deeper. Pressing her lips forcefully until Rachel parted hers, Quinn's tongue darted into the opening, and entered Rachel's mouth. Rachel's tongue met hers in automatic response. Quinn pulled her even closer, physically pressing their bodies together while Rachel's mouth surrendered to hers. Quinn felt her nipples harden, as she slid her hands downward to grasp Rachel's ass. Squeezing her backside, kneading it over her clothes, Quinn's tongue continued to wrestle for dominance inside Rachel's mouth.

A loud _ding! _Followed by a deliberately loud and clearly annoyed huffing noise caused them to break apart.

Quinn looked up. Without thinking, she rolled her eyes. Post-roll, Quinn's eyes met with the penetrating stare of the tall, awkwardly angled woman with black cat eye glasses as she exited from the elevator, glaring with blatant displeasure at the couple.

"Morning, Nancy." Quinn said in a perfunctory greeting.

The harsh looking woman, overdressed for a early Saturday morning in something too expensive, glared at her and said nothing. With a final rude glare, she pushed past them.

Quinn laughed. "Ever heard the lipstick on a pig saying?" The blonde called out, as the severe woman slammed the front door behind her dramatically.

"Who was that unpleasant woman?"

"My neighbor. She's such a bitch. She thinks because she owned the other penthouse suite first that she's entitled to this building, I swear. She's always complaining about Freddie, about my parking, about the crowds outside – she finds things to be annoyed about on a daily basis."

"You shouldn't poke the snake, Quinn. That's sad."

"No, _she's_ sad. What's she going to do…_glare_ me to death? I can't stand her, she's mean to Freddie, which is untenable, and I can't stand people like that with their painfully obvious jealousy. Screw her. Now…where were we?" Mused Quinn, as her arms snaked around Rachel. She guided her into the open doors of the elevator, as her hands began moving up and down the body of the smaller woman accompanying her.

The ugly neighbor quickly forgotten, Rachel felt herself shivering undering the roaming hands of Quinn…._again._

What they didn't realize, is that outside, Quinn's neighbor, spurred by a volatile combination of jealousy, irritation, and malice, decided to _chat _with the small crowd of paparazzi outside. Complaining, she recalled for them all of the juicy "eyewitness" details of the "lewd, borderline pornographic, behaviors" of the two famous women that she and "all the neighbors" were "constantly subjected to on a daily basis," details they could use as they saw fit.

As she reveled in the attention, her "facts" began to take a life of their own, unencumbered by the burden of actual truth. With a gleam of satisfaction, Quinn's dark haired neighbor, with her harsh façade and even uglier personality, practiced the fine art of disinformation. She smiled with a malevolent grin as she dreamed of someday bringing down her perfect, famous, beautiful blonde neighbor, the woman to whom everything came _so _easily.

How she _hated_ Quinn Fabray. _And_ her stupid son.

The suggestive headlines, replete with borderline doctored photographs from the morning's fracas, would couple together to create a story causing the morning editions to change headlines. It, in turn, would spark what would become a national frenzy. The phenomena dubbed with the moniker, "Faberry," was about to be born.

Much to her bitter neighbor's disgust, the gossiping actions would have the absolute opposite effect of what she expected. It galvanized the public even more, generating an even bigger interest in the blonde's personal life.

If anything, the rumors that would begin to circulate about the sex life of the two beautiful women- presumed to be straight for all practical purposes-generated a frenzy surrounding their every move. Could two such bangin', white-hot women be doing it…_with each other?_ Too much…It was the stuff dreams (and fan fics) were made of….

If possible, Nancy's fabrications incorporating one small grain of truth, had set the stage for Quinn becoming even _more_ fascinating, _more_ alluring, and _more_ desired in the public's eye, when hitched to Rachel's star, if that platitude was even _possible_. The possibility that the proper Quinn Fabray could give in to a desire no one knew she had? Priceless. The public _**loved**_ it. It humanized a goddess.

Neighbor lady? She was _furious._

XOXO

The two women had barely made it upstairs with their clothes on. Dragging Rachel back into her bedroom, still reeking with the heavy smell of their sex, Quinn threw her on the bed.

Rachel looked up, giggling, until she looked up and saw the hungry, feral glint in Quinn's eyes.

She stopped giggling.

Swiftly, Quinn closed the distance between them. Grabbing Rachel's ankle with her hand, she wrapped her fingers around the slender ankle, gripping her firmly. She yanked upwards. Rachel slid down the length of the mattress, exposing the opening between her legs.

Quinn licked her lips, as she saw the reflection of moisture from Rachel's exposed orifice.

With an almost savage intensity, Quinn quickly mounted Rachel. She scissored her legs so that she straddled Rachel in a perpendicular fit; then, without preamble, she jammed her body downward, melding their wet openings together with force.

Looking down, deliberately, Quinn quirked her eyebrow and raised her pelvis up, disconnecting them. Taking her fingers, momentarily, to spread Rachel's opening lips wide, she then bore down on Rachel's opening with her own. Claiming her grip on the brunette's ankle hold again, she listened to the sound of their juices, the connection of flesh, becoming intoxicated.

Soon, Quinn was rocking in a continuous motion, met by Rachel's upward response; with each thrust, an intense pressure was applied directly on Rachel's clit, opening, and her folds. As they were pressed together by the thrusting of her former childhood tormentor above her, it was quickly becoming too much for Rachel.

"_Ohmigod_, Quinn, you feel so fucking good…please don't stop…."

"_MMmmf._ No _fucking_ way am I stopping…I want to** ride** you, _so fucking hard_, Rachel…."

She re-gripped each of Rachel's ankles, holding her in place, forcing their centers to align together, as she thrust down, _harder_. They fell into a furious rhythm, rocking together in sync. Despite Quinn's control, her need for dominance, her previous behavior towards Rachel, in the past…she felt it. Rachel felt Quinn's wetness, and she felt her own center core tighten as a result, and begin to spasm…

Rachel threw her head backwards, moaning, "Oh, harder, Quinn….I'm starting to _come_! Oh, _God_!"

Quinn became relentless with that confession. A woman possessed, she angled her pelvis sharply, dragging her center across Rachel's pussy opening _and_ swollen clit. The redirection caused the smaller woman to moan uncontrollably with each downward thrust.

Quinn was beginning to sweat and could feel her own orgasm building rapidly. With a grunt, she continued to bear down, deliberately grinding their cores together. Sweat was beading on her brow. She watched Rachel's breasts bounce with each thrust she delivered; her nipples erect and deep rosy red. Quinn licked her lips. Reaching down, she grabbed one of the taut breasts and kneading it. She pinched the nipple deliberately, and wouldn't stop her macerations until Rachel's eventual conclusion. The feel of the pebbled nipple between her fingers made Quinn crazed.

Her movements became quicker, shorter, and more frenetic; Rachel let out a gasp of unadulterated pleasure. Rachel's blunt orgasm came quickly and consumed her; she cried out Quinn's name as she closed her eyes. Clenching the sheets with her fists, she gave in to her climax.

Quinn watched, intently, as Rachel's nipples hardened further, and Rachel arched her back into the orgasm, purposely riding it out in duration, milking it to completion.

The blonde watched the woman whom she had adored for the majority of her teen and adult life, coming undone beneath her. The former princess felt her own orgasm build quickly with each downward thrust and breathy moan she elicited from the Diva. The camber of Rachel's voice as she gave in to her inevitable conclusion was Quinn's undoing, and always had been. She _lived_ for the sound of Rachel's voice when she came...

As Quinn felt her own stomach and vaginal walls tighten, she apologized, indirectly, to Rachel's hypersensitive vaginal folds, still recovering from their recent post-orgasm state.

Relentless, she bucked into Rachel, driving into Rachel's opening _harder_, bucking her pelvis, savagely. Quinn needed to feel her. She need to _touch_ her. She needed to connect them, at their core. She needed…

_Rachel._

As she felt the early vestiges for her own hungry orgasm, Quinn cried out. "Oh, _fuck_, Rachel…_fuck_! You feel so good, **God,** you feel so _wet_…."

And with a final grunt, she _came_, riding Rachel's tender opening against her own with a deliberate fury; a hunger Quinn feared would never be sated. Quinn shuddered, as she topped Rachel, then collapsed, unable to keep herself upright.

As she flopped down next to the smiling, brunette woman next to her, she cast a smile in return, she indulged her internal fears, momentarily, regarding this hunger….and regarding her fears. Fears she wasn't deserving of this happiness; fears that she would always want too much of Rachel; fears that someday shewould be punished for her past transgressions caused by her repression; and her greatest one of all, her need for this woman next to her.

She feared would never have _enough_ of Rachel Berry.

**TBC.**


	16. Chapter 16: Rachel Makes A Deal

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

**Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J**

**Rating: **This Chapter PG13. I know, I know – calm down. I had to advance this thing called "plot"

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British Monarchy, the Tony Awards, yada yada. Non Profit. Good Clean Fun.

A/N- Don't worry…I'll be back on tract, soon. Damn you, plot!

**CHAPTER 16: Rachel Strikes A Deal.**

As fate would have it, Quinn was a_ great_ co-parent with her ex; they did much better as friends, than as love interests. At the end of the day, they were able to let bygones be just that, be _adults_, and put the needs of the children ahead of the needs of adults, a true rarity these days.

And, as it would turn out, Quinn was fiercely protective of not just her children, but of her ex, as well. HRH used to constantly worry about screening potential suitors for her grandson, because Lord knows, her son wasn't up to the task; fortunately, these days, as she was slowing down, she had to just call upon the services of the troika of Quinn, Rachel, and Santa Lopez together as the vetting committee- their ability to sniff out the bullshit was invaluable to LizII.

Quinn was the most feared of the three; after all, they would have to prove they could handle the worlds' most eligible bachelor and all that came with that, but most importantly, they would have to have the amazing capacity to step-parent and blend families with _her_ son. Quinn Fabray. Iconic Quinn Fabray. The woman by whom all other women would be measured in the Princes' life.

Any female who could make it past the steering committee of this troika of doom - HBIC Mama Bear, Overprotective Jewish Mother, and Hot Latino Mama who could have doubled as an assassin just as easily as the president-elect of the American Bar Association- would have to be a rare woman, indeed. The man who would be King feared he would be the man without a Queen - because, frankly, he was scared of them – and they were on **his** side. Unfortunately, the three of them were absolutely 100% devoted to Freddie, and they did not believe in any margin for errors.

However, if one can believe it…miracles do occur.

This particular miracle took form in the shape of 5'6" Lady Caroline Groton, an accomplished writer, opinionated, and very well bred woman; an atypically beautiful brunette, she was as ladylike and charismatic as she was pedigreed. Although she never had children of her own, she had worked as a literature teacher and tutored underprivileged youth in the arts without pay.

"Rachel, she's perfect." Quinn argued.

"Perfectly _irritating_. God! The woman won't let you get a word in edgewise!"

"I disagree, she was really charming."

"To you, Quinn. She was trying to impress _you._"

"**_Oh_**, so that's what this is about? She didn't kiss the great Rachel Berry's ass enough?" Quinn replied.

Off to the side, slightly, two figures in the shadows coinnitered. "How long are they going to go on like this? "The lone male in the room whispered to Santana.

"Keep your pants on, Princely. I gots this…watch Madame Santana Lopez work. Watch, and _learn."_

As she sauntered forward, she cast a backwards glance. "And don't get a boner in the process."

Focusing on the smaller brunette, Attorney Lopez stepped forward. "_Rach!"_

"What?" She replied, irritated.

"_Did I mention_ that you Quinn and I may finally get fucking outnumbered on the Yentel-watching movie-night front- piece of shit debacle that that will be-if this chick is in?"

"What?" Her eyes widened.

"Yup. You and this Caroline chick can exchange Bat Mitzvah stories, it would appear."

"She's _Jewish_?"

"I don't know a lot of Southern Baptists that have Bat Mitzvahs, but what the fuck do I know?"

Rachel smiled brightly at Quinn.

Attempting her most sincere doe-eyed look, she said confidently, "_Perhaps_ I've been too hasty. Shall we give her another chance?"

As the two discussed the merits of the potential vote in, Santana smirked, and sashayed back to her place next to the awe-struck prince. "That was really pretty impressive, Santana. However, playing the race/religion card was kind of a cheap shot, you know. Caroline and I never worry about it."

Any signs of mirth left Santana's face. "You better learn some serious gratitude, and learn it quick, Freckles. _Let Mama San __**explain**__ to you_ what_ just_ went down: you and your brain that lacks any common sense of yours would have been Howdy-Doodying along all the way to the crown without Rachel and Quinn EVER agreeing on ANYONE. And I might deliberately veto everyone, cause frankly, you're an ass, sometimes. You would have grown a full Chia pet on your crusty palm with the amount of whacking-off you would be condemned to perform on yourself once you were coroneted…. because guess what, Richie Cunningham, there's no fucking around when your under THAT scrutiny! Your balls would fossilize, forgetting what they're there for, and eventually they would shrivel up and fall off your body, any detectable testerone having long left your body_ years_ prior….eventually, Freddie would stop introducing any of his girlfriends to you because you would obviously get a raging boner, likely ejaculating during dinner having forgotten what a woman looks like in the actual flesh…until finally, you start thinking the family dog is looking good. Do I make myself clear?"

He gulped. "Is this what you're like in closing arguments?"

She held up her left hand, missing half of the pinky. "No, Red Orca, this is what I'm like when talking about the next step-mother to my Godson. When someone threatens my family, I will ends them. Freddie _is _my family, and I don't want some fucking gold-digger or pansy-ass who's not up to the job to be around him as much as I am- er, I mean, _Quinn_- is."

"You love him." He said, quietly.

"Holy shit! It speaks."

"Why do I feel relief and concern all at the same time?" He grinned.

"Bitch, that's how Santana rolls. "

"Santana- you and I are very alike, in some ways…we're trying to escape the shadow of the first women we loved – the women we married – and what they were to us, in our lives. "

Santana's face was unreadable.

"And, in an oddly similar way, "He sucked his breath in, "Despite all of our efforts, we woke up one day, and these women…they were …. _gone._ To lose something, without any say? Without any participation in the decision? God. And there was nothing, _nothing_ we could do about it…"

"No one said life was fair, Howdy-Doody."

"No, that it is definitely not. " He folded his arms. "However, sometimes, there is redemption, Madam President. Sometimes…a second chance _can_ find you."

"I don't want to be found."

He smiled. "I never said you did. But… I hope, for your sake," He continued, pulling her in to his chest, hugging her tightly, "that you _are_ found, Santana Lopez. No one loves_ harder_, is more_ loyal_, or needs to be found, quite frankly, as much as you." He kissed her on the forehead, as she relaxed momentarily into his hug.

"You know, I like her, _and _I love her, Lopez. _And_ she loves me back. It feels totally different to NOT be someone's "better-than-nothing.", you know? Someone's substitute for the person they _really_ want to be with…"

Truthfully? Santana didn't.

She loved two people in her life, and she married the second. They loved her as much as she loved them. But instead of her usual snarky, she couldn't bring herself to hit the jugular when the man in front of her was being so sincere.

"Okay_, okay,_ carrot top. Look,…I actually like this girl of yours. She's…_mature._ Has perspective- despite being an occasional spaz. You know, she kind of reminds me of a _much _calmer version of Rachel."

Looking shocked that someone else noticed, he agreed. "It's bloody weird, isn't it?"

"Indeed." Santana acknowledged.

"Hmmm. Maybe I understand Quinn better than I thought I did…"

XOXOXO

It could not possibly be more stereotypically awful.

Rain was falling, the muddy puddles put a drab color over what was already the most horrible day of Santana Anita Lopez' life.

She felt a buzzing in her ear as the service began, and she couldn't get it to stop. She felt as though she was out of her body, almost extientially watching inwards. She listened abstractly to the words of the officiant; something about laying and darkness and the cold of the world and the warmth of the earth; people were murmuring the texted response of "we lay you down," and Santana didn't care that she wasn't following perfectly along.

Her wife was being buried. Forgive fucking the lack of timeliness of response, she was dying inside. She should be buried, right along with the woman being buried today. Except for two things.

Two piercing brown eyes that looked up at her with a piercing ferocity that rivaled her own. The beautiful little girl sitting next to her in tights whispered to her older doppelganger.

"Mama, I guess its just you and I now, isn't it?"

"I guess so, Bea. I guess so."

XOXOXOXOX

"Thank you, Rachel, for coming to see me, alone."

"It wasn't easy, Caroline, I hope you understand that. I'm in rehearsals for my new show."

She smiled wanly. "I'm aware."

Rachel took in the appearance of the suddenly gaunt Caroline, and felt herself getting alarmed. She looked like she was going to crumple up, and die. Rachel leaned forward, and grasped her arms. "Oh, _einayim sheli,_ what is it?"

Rachel was concerned, and her heart began to race, as she scanned the expression of the woman before her. The two had become fast friends, oddly enough, and they were so alike that Rachel had come to think of her as an older sister.

"Rachel, I…I…" Her voice broke.

Rachel just pulled her closer and hugged her. "Whatever it is, you are the one that decides how much control "it" has in this situation. Remember that."

"I'm trying. That's why I called you here."

Her eyes welled up as she looked at Rachel. "Rachel, I found out…I, well. I should just come out with it, then. Stiff upper lip, right? Well, Rachel. I have…um. Here it is. I have…endometrial cancer ."

Rachel's eyes widened. For a moment, both of their thoughts raced to the woman who was now buried in the ground, who's cancer changed so many lives of the friends they both now shared. It changed Santana forever.

"Sheli…while I'm certainly not a medical professional, my basic understanding is that it is highly treatable, is it not?"

She laughed, harshly. "Well, yes, Rachel, it is highly curable. Treatment options involve surgery, radiation therapy and chemotherapy."

"But you'll live!"

"But I'll live…_without a uterus_." She said, meaningfully. She laughed bitterly. "I try hard not to be jealous of your wife, Rachel. But here again is one more thing that Quinn Fabray is better at me … I can't even provide my husband, whom I adore, a child, Rachel. "

Rachel nodded, finally comprehending.

"Yet, your wife, she would grit her teeth once a month…drink brandy, and have relations while imagining it was you that was touching her and not my husband."

"And she had Freddie." Rachel said, nodding in understanding, as she finished her point for her.

"Yes," Caroline gripped Rachel 's hands again. "She had Freddie. Rach, its not even the whole mishigas of being pregnant that I want. I couldn't really give a crap about that. I will regret, however, that I don't get to watch a child grow into an adult….to shape that future. That makes me so …sad…" she said as she screwed up her features in an attempt not to not cry.

"You could …adopt…?"

Caroline gave her a knowing glare.

"Okay, fine. With this family, probably not."

"Rachel, I've put a lot of thought into this. Really. I want a child – and I want my husband to sire this child. You can understand why I would die before I asked Quinn Fabray to bear my child."

"Yes, I …**_oh, holy shit_**. You mean _me_!"

"Rachel, you are the closet thing I have to a sister. We are our own little dysfunctional family here. I trust you. We look alike, we act alike, we have the same values."

"Car- look. I'm not saying **_no_**, its just that…well, I'm no spring chicken, here. We're talking the risk of aneuploidy, you know? And my goodness, I've never done this before…"

"Rachel, you have treated your body like it's a TEMPLE. You really are an ideal surrogate., or in this case, _baby mama_…."

They both laughed. As they held hands, Rachel set her jaw. She thought of how short life was – she couldn't help but to think of the irony of Santana and her family surviving the hardships necessary to finally put away the Cartel, only to have J **_lost _**to them forever three months later from late stage pancreatic cancer.

Santana required Bea to take martial arts classes the very next day.

TBC


	17. Chapter 18: Quinn Then, Quinn Now

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

**Pairing(s):** Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

**Rating**: No holds barred. M/NC-17 ratings.

**Disclaime**r: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, US News and World Report, the Nobel committee, or motherhood in general. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required.

**Summary**: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N:**

**Chapter 17: Quinn Before, Quinn After**

If you do something unbelievable once, chalk it up to "shit happens",_ right_? However, if you do something twice, _shame on you._ And if you do something thrice, well, the psychologists will tell you it's "now a _habit_". A behavior. A trait.

Because it's hard to negotiate yourself out of a situation as effectively as you are able to on Time #0 or Time #1.

Quinn's time number two, was in a general use student bathroom at McKinley during an intra-squad Cheerios practice. They had been going hard all afternoon, and Sylvester was on the warpath. Quinn was hot and sweaty…and she clearly had that "I've been outdoors" smell, but it wasn't necessarily…_unpleasant_, not on Quinn, anyway. People like Quinn Fabray never truly sweat or looked flustered. They usually just _glowed._

Quinn and her magic glow had been dispatched by Sue to retrieve some pylons that the gym class had dared to use that were _exclusive _use for the Cheerios. Despite the fact they had more than enough to block of the routines for the afternoon, Sue Sylvester wanted HER pylons' back. So she sent her captain to go retrieve them during break while she reviewed the more complicated part of their second routine with "the imbeciles" as she not-so-fondly called them.

The HBIC allowed herself a moment of weakness to "tinkle" in the more undesirable general use girl's bathroom for the general public at the site.

In the "commoners" bathroom, as the Cheerios called it, she saw her.

_Her._

She was putting on lipstick…right there…_brazenly_…for Quinn's eyeballs to land on. Quinn huffed. _The Nerve!_ She could have sworn she saw Rachel shudder, almost imperceptibly, as Quinn entered.

The cheerleader quickly surveyed the bathroom, ensuring privacy, and then licked her lips while her eyes dragged up involuntarily to stare at those plump, red, and warm lips….

Suddenly, a vision of their heated make out session a week and a half ago came flooding through her consciousness: every touch, whisper, and other assaults to her brain. Quinn had to calm her body and hold on to something. In her flustered state, and she clenched her lids down, and she blurted, "What are _you_ doing in here, Frodo?"

_Why did I just say that stupid fucking nick name? What, I'm back in 2nd grade now?_ Quinn grimaced.

Rachel's shoulders remained stoic t was almost during the beginning of the show, briefest of seconds that Rachel let i"I'm performing neurosurgery, obviously. I'm just waiting for my scrub nurse and the crew from the Discovery Channel to return."

She hadn't even looked up to regard the party whom the sarcasm was intended for, to see if it hit the mark. When she hear an agitated sigh and stomp she smiled internally. Direct hit.

Quinn was seething as Rachel deliberately put gloss finisher on her lips, drawing out every full stroke. Rachel's eyes finally drifted towards Quinn. Her eyes landed, albeit briefly, in Quinn's general direction. "I see you are retrieving your pylons."She observed.

The HBIC sat there, grinding her jaw, pacing with indecision.

"Was it you that took them, Rachel? Why would you do that?"

"Take? I'm insulted. That's a crime, at least in my book. I don't commit crimes." She turned her nose up at Quinn, and the tension grew a thousand fold. Quinn did not like being disregarded. "That doesn't mean I don't disagree with their reappropriation, however. I don't like the..._attitude_ of the Cheerios organization, the entitled aspect of it."

"That's what all those national titles do for you, I guess. But..." Quinn faltered. "But, what do you mean, specifically?"

Rachel looked back at herself in the mirror, giving a smack to her lips as she recapped her lipstick. Quinn felt her heart rate jump.

"Oh you know," Rachel said, indifferently. "Everyone program at this school is on a budget, and has to live within it. However, the cheerios, it seems, live in a different world. A very entitled world. One in which, it seems, everything belongs to them, for their use. They can take it, use it, disregard it, and buy next years' model. So they just cast things aside after they're done...using it."

Quinn felt something rising to her cheeks that she couldn't place. Anger? No. Irritation? Not exactly.

_Want._

Yes, that was it. Sheer want. Without thinking further, Quinn acted. She acted on her want. With one hand, she gripped Rachel's wrist, with the hand still holding her lipstick, and spun her around. Hazel eyes flashing, she said in a low, gravely voice, "So, that's what you think? You think I'm just...using you?" Quinn finished, raking her eyes up and down Rachel's body.

Rachel laughed. "Well, I think one part is true...you certainly want me." She wrenched her wrist from Quinn's grip and returned her gaze defiantly.

Quinn continued to stare. "Oh yeah? And what do you want, Berry?"

"I.."Her voice faltered, as the brown eyes got lost in the deep sea of Quinn's tortured gaze. That bit of hesitation was enough for Quinn. Her hands rose, instantly, to grip the cheeks of the girl before her. Quinn pressed her lips to Rachel's, insistently.

Rachel moaned.

"Oh, God, Rachel..."Quinn gasped, before she resumed the deep and needy kiss once more. When Rachel pushed her tongue into Quinn's mouth, exploring her, Quinn felt her nipples harden, and a jolt of electricity between her legs.

She wanted Rachel. She wanted her so much...

Their hands were everywhere...Rachel didn't care that Quinn was sweaty and musky; it aroused her more. Maybe that's what she would smell like after we spent the day in bed, Rachel mused to herself. Then she startled, not even realizing where her speculation had taken her.

"What?" Quinn asked.

"I was...I was thinking...is this what you'd taste like..."

"Yes?"

"...after we'd been in bed, all day, together."

"Oh, God!" Quinn pressed herself harder against Rachel, not knowing what to do with all this need that was spilling out of her, everywhere. Her lips were brushing against Rachel's mouth, her tongue imploring. She inadvertently slipped her knee between Rachel's skirt to rebalance herself, and her thigh found itself pressing against Rachel's core as a result. Quinn could feel the heat radiating against her thigh...from Rachel.

"Quinn..."Rachel whined.

That spurred her to press harder. Quinn became ridiculously aroused when she felt the shiver of the smaller woman from the action, and she threw her arms around Rachel's' shoulders, pressing herself into the tiny brunette. Rachel threw her head back with the sensation, and Quinn quickly pressed her mouth against Rachel's inviting throat. She kissed; she sucked; she bit her...all the while pressing into Rachel's center...

A loud bang was heard on the bathroom door.

"Fabray! What to the actual fuck are you doing in there?" It was the voice of her second in command.

Quinn flew across the room, recoiling at the sound of the voice. "Santana?" She said, shaky.

"No, it's the fucking Easter Bunny. Open up! Sylvester is going to kill you! Do you have the fucking pylons?"

"Yes." She called back and picked up the pylons. She unlocked the door, gesturing for Rachel to hide. However, Santana pushed through the door too quickly.

"Oh-ho! Look what Fabgay has in here! Afternoon, Berry."

"Hello, Santana."

No one said anything.

Finally, Rachel spoke. "Um, it's not my place to say, but don't you think you two should get back to practice with those pylons?"

The two were startled back to life. "Oh, shit!" Quinn and Santana hustled up all the orange cones, and scurried out the door. As the identically clad girls exited the bathroom, Santana tossed a quick look back at the diva.

"Hey! Nice shade of lipstick, Berry. But... I'd cover up that hickey before you leave, if I were you." Santana said, with a wink as she shut the door behind them.

"Oh, no!" Rachel said, turning to confirm the unfortunate news in the mirror after they were gone.

While jogging back to practice, Santana couldn't hold it in. "Nice_ lipstick_, Quinn. Looks similar to Berry's..."

"_Shut it_, San!"

"Drinkin' a little of that Berry juice in there?"

Quinn halted, putting her hand on Santana's check to halt her, abruptly. Glaring menacingly at her, she growled. "_Nothing_ happened. Berry is nobody. Berry is no one!" Quinn's voice was rising. "She is_ no one_ to me, got that? She's a _loser._ You saw nothing, so shut the fuck up, Lopez, and pull your stupid bubble tits out of your ass, or else you're going to be on the bottom of the pyramid for the rest of the entire cheer year! You'll have Candy Browning's fat ass riding your shoulder blades all year long, _got that_?"

"Sheesh, Fabray. Lighten up."

"I_ mean_ it."

"Okay,_ okay._ Bitch, I got it."

However, both girls knew, in that very instant, Quinn Fabray was seriously deluding herself, as they sprinted back to practice.

XOXOXOX

Santana was having her weekly dinner with the Berry-Fabray's.

"Santana, the bad guys won't get away if you actually chew your food more than twice, ineffectively."

"GWRREsdfhgdh." Santana replied, mouth full. "Where's that small human of yours?"

"You mean, Freddie?"

"Yeah, him."

"Well, 'him' is still at soccer."

"_What the hell_ kinda moms _are_ you? Who's picking him up?"

"For the third week in a row, San, Sam Evans, his soccer coach, brings him home."

"Oh. Um, can you pass those potatoes au gratin if you're not going to finish them?"

"San, have you talked to-" Quinn and Rachel said, simultaneously. Jinxing each other, they laughed.

"OMG," The lawyer said, gagging herself with the cutlery that was presently shoveling Rachel's leftover potatoes into her mouth. "You two are _disgusting_. Open the dictionary to North American Vanilla Mating Lesbians, there's a picture of the two of you, driving your Lezbaru, in matching L.L. Bean walking shorts."

"Vanilla?" Quinn said, arching her eyebrow.

Rachel sniggered.

Santana swiveled her head around to Rachel. "Hobbit, you trying to tell me you define anything OTHER than L.B.D.?"

"L.B.D.? I don't follow?" Rachel asked, perplexed, as she took a drink of water.

Quinn laughed. "Rachel, she's implying we suffer from chronic fatigue syndrome of co-mating female _homo sapiens_, I believe. Also known as Lesbian

Bed Death."

Rachel choked on her water. Gasping, she stood up, clearing the plates. "Oh. I see." She smiled amusedly. "Well, I'll just take my cadaveric self into the kitchen, and clear our service." She giggled to herself as she walked into the kitchen. Quinn's gaze followed her wife's departing figure, as she collected everyone's plates and exited to the kitchen. Quinn took a drink of her wine, bemused.

"_What the fuck_ was that little exchange, Fabray?"

"Well, I hate to kick a gal while she's down, San..."

The lawyer screwed up her face, highly skeptical. "_Pleassse_." The lawyer clicked her teeth. "Quinn, as long as I've known you, you can't even say 'pussy', much less _do anything_ remotely insulting to it. For reals...have you met? You?"

Quinn laughed again. "Well, I guess the unmovable force met the unstoppable object, then."

San screwed up her features, analyzing the blonde before her.

"You look skeptical, counselor."

"Damn straight, Skippy. You tellin' me that you and Pollyanna are gettin' nasty?_ Riiight_. Quinn Fabray can't even_ spell_ nasty, much less do nasty, not without going to church."

"Santana, do you talk like this in court?"

"Sometimes. Depends on the jury. I can sound even more formal than Lips Berry, there, in the kitchen, if I need to."

"Makes sense."

"No fucking shit."

"I guess that's why you win all the time."

"Yep. Most lawyers are breathing that rarefied air, you know. No fuckin' common sense. Oh, and Quinn?"

"Yes?"

"Stop fucking diverting. Back to your borderline virgin pussies. Details. _Now_."

"Why do you find it so hard to grasp that Rachel and I have sex every night, counselor?"

"_Every_ night?"

"Yes." Quinn said, leaning forward. "_Every_. Night."

"**No**..."

"_Yes._"

_"Dammmn." _The Latina said, leaning back. She took in her former captain. "Well, that doesn't mean its_ good_ sex. Just cause you drive that Ford Taurus to work every day doesn't make you an Indy 500 competitor all of a sudden."

Quinn smiled, in the same bemused fashion that Rachel had. "Well, I personally come, **hard**, _at least_ three times, I would say. So, yes, actually... that does make me a pretty damn good Indy 500 driver, San."

"Dammmmn!"

Quinn got up and crossed the table. As she closed the distance between her and her friend in a predatory manner, Santana tensed. Quinn crouched behind San, and leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Oh, I should mention...at least _one_ of those times will be _anal_. Guaranteed. One or two of those times, at least once a week, it's fair to say, I tie Rachel up." Quinn paused, taking in the shocked expression of her friend and smiled. She continued, "One of those times, just last week, I was _burned_, accidentally. All of those times mean the next morning, our sheets are so disgusting we universally have to do them ourselves - we never leave them for our cleaning service. Oh, and San? My favorite part? In some of those times, occasionally, I fuck Rachel _so hard_ on the weekends that she_ passes out_..." She flicked the brunette's earlobe with her tongue, for emphasis, causing her to jump.

Quinn laughed, and stood to her full height with the intimidating glare and perfect posture reminiscent of their cheering days, looking at down at the lawyer below her.

Santana was sweating.

"_Damn_ girl, that's just _mean_ to do to me. I think I just had an arrhythmia!"

Quinn held her gaze, almost malevolently, until they heard the latch on the front heavy front oak door. Hearing the door opening, coupled with Freddy's enthusiastic _war whoop_ bellow through it, Quinn continued in a low tone ensuring only Santana could hear. "_You drove me to it_, Santana. You of all people know that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover."

"Set, Match...Fabray." The lawyer concurred.

Going from her porn star voice directly into the PTA Room Parent voice, she called out cheerfully, "Hi, Baby! How was practice?"

_"Meh_."He answered. Walking into the dining room, his face lit up as he saw his favorite eccentric aunt. "Hey, it's Auntie San! _Cool!_ You're here! So, I took some notes I wanted to ask you about...so wait here."

He dropped all his gear, backpack, and shoes on the floor as he bolted upstairs. Quinn frowned at the discarded pile. Rachel re-entered the room, looking nervously between Santana and Quinn, and registered the much scrutinized looks she was getting from Santana.

Nervously, she tried to change the subject. "What was that about?" she asked Quinn, gesturing to the pile of crap on the floor and the stairwell.

"Oh. Freddie wants to finally show Aunty San his Encylocepedia-Brown-Boy-Dectective-esque notes he's taken, on her case."

"Oh, _great_." Rachel said. Looking sympathetically towards her attorney friend, she said, "San, I know you're really busy right now, and we hardly get to see you. If you don't have the time to listen to his oddly passionate theories, or whatever, give the signal. He's just worried about you."

Santana registered the first unguarded smile she had, in a long time. "It's _cute_. Besides, these weekly dinners are the only thing keeping me fed _and_ sane. It's the only time I get to be me, anymore. Besides, you _know_ what I think of that kid."

"Yes, I do, Santana." Rachel said, as she moved to put her arm reassuringly on her friends' shoulder.

Coming down the circular stair case, arms full of papers flying, with what appeared to be multiple diagrams, a Lego box holder of office supplies, and additional folders full of notes. While he hadn't gone as far as the 'Rachel Berry PowerPoint', he was certainly an apprentice in training. Setting up the living room table and calling in to the dining room to Santana, he said, "I hope you have time for a brief presentation, Auntie San!"

San left the table, amused, drifting in to the other room. Arm in arm, Rachel and Quinn followed, behind. Freddie had drawn out dozen of flow charts profiling famous FBI and other federal crime cases, such as the Gambino family, Al Capone, Bonnie and Clyde, and such.

"I've been _trying_ to figure out how other bad dude and dudettes were finally caught, Auntie San." He said earnestly.

Quinn and Santana's eyes started to well up.

Freddie continued nervously, looking only at Santana. "I figured, maybe there's some technique you've missed, Auntie San." His eyes got wide, as he realized what he said. "That's not what I- I mean, you never forget...I..."

Santana flapped her arm. "No worries, Short Stack. I know what you meant." As she sat down next to him and put her arm around him. Gently, she continued, "Show me what you've got here, kid. This is impressive."

He beamed.

Then, he looked sad. "Unfortunately, there's no common theme, or pattern that works consistently. Auntie San, your job is _hard_."

"Tell me about it."

"_For reals_!" He agreed. Rachel and Quinn shared an incredulous look between them, as Santana cackled. "Anyway, I started looking at how famous crime gangs were taken down. So, like, take for example, Bonnie and Clyde. Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, as you know, robbed a consistent path through the Midwest- and they also killed like 9 or 10 police officers, right? They were tracked by the Feds because they used the same habitual paths. They were brought down by a fleet of cops and gunned down in a rain of automatic bullet fire in Louisiana. Sounds like they were shot each about 50 times. But, I imagine you can't have NYPD just go in there, guns blazing."

"Nope. I need them alive so I can prosecute them and we can get as much information out of them as possible."

"I figured."

"Also, these guys are smart. They don't make that mistake twice. Everything they do is different – what they sell, how they get it in…they're very versatile."

"Hmm."

Santana glanced at the women leaning against the wall. "Hey Fabray, Midget...you let him read this crap on the computer? Aren't you monitoring him?"

Haughtily, Rachel said, "_Of course_ we are. We set parental controls on his computer,_ Santana_."

Freddie leaned in toward Santana and whispered, "Which I jailbroke last year." Santana sniggered. She loved this kid. Despite the best efforts of the women next to them, he hadn't been totally pussified. _You can thank Auntie San for that_, she thought to herself.

Louder, Freddie continued, "So, I looked at more similar crimes, more like the drug smugglers or crime families, like what you're dealing with. Take, for example, Al Capone. Chicago's most infamous Mob Boss. Killed tons of people. Bootlegger. Yada yada yada."

"He's going to be the only monacharch, non-Jew, who speaks Yiddish."

"Shalom Aleichem." He emphasized.

"See?" Santana gestured.

"También recogí mierda de ustedes, también." He said to Santana. She laughed.

"So, a case closer to our hearts, from right here in New York. John "The Teflon Don" – charged with everything from murder, racketeering, extortion, jury tampering. He had prior arrests from his youth, and yet, none of his arrests stuck. Do you know why?"

"Jury tampering?"Rachel blurted out.

Three pairs of eyes looked at her.

"Oh, sorry, I just actually knew the answer to that one!"

"Yes, Mommellah, you're right."Freddie said patiently. "Do you know how they finally did stick?"

Santana grinned. "I do, do you?"

"They made the jurors _anonymous_! You don't know who they are, you can't bribe or harass them! And boom! He went to jail."

"I'm not worried about getting it to stick – we just can't get enough evidence to charge them with a crime. Any of their millions of crimes!" Sighed Santana, wearily.

"A similar problem to Al Capone and his gang. You know, after he was brought into custody, he left his gang to be tended by idiots. Unfortunately, I don't think these guys are going to be as stupid as the people Mr. Capone left his business to, a la Ralph Capone, Jack Guzik and Frank Nitti "The Enforcer" were, Auntie San. They went down for something to do with tax fraud. I don't know, the American tax code in 1930 was super different than today, there's too many loopholes now, so that wouldn't work today, unfortunately. Some smart tax person could find a loophole, now."

Santana had been thinking quietly clenching her jaw while Freddie talked. When he finished talking, she bolted up to a dead stop. "That's it, kid! _That's so fuckin' **it**_**!"** She said, as she fished out a twenty out of her pocket, handing it to the beaming boy.

"For my tab for the swear jar, kiddo."

Rachel and Quinn exchanged quizzical looks. As San hurriedly put on her coat to leave she looked at Quinn meaningfully. "The key to bringing down the most powerful drug lord of an international cartel…wow."She laughed. "Quinn, think Brittany, junior year."

"What?"

Santana was gone.

"What just happened?" Quinn said, pointedly.

Freddy interjected. "Mom, what happened with Brittany, in your junior year?"

"Well, son…let's see. She did cheerios, she was in glee, she did a shopping mall signing tour with Lord Tubbington, and she got her….license? _She got her drivers' license_!"

Rachel and Quinn exchanged a knowing look.

Quinn looked at her son. "She quickly broke the record for number of parking tickets in the history of Lima, Ohio….in one years' time!"

And that is how Santana Elise Lopez did it. She had the head of the most influential modern-day international drug cartel arrested and brought in to prison in New York for **_unpaid parking tickets_** and vehicular negligence. Once in custody, they were able to extract key details to get the rest of the operation to fall. The threat of being put into a general population prison, with Muslim sentiment what it was at the time, was quite unappealing to the Lord . Especially since Santana assured him guards would be busy with other tasks during those times. Turns out, a coward is a coward, no matter how powerful.

Later that month, Santana arranged for Freddie to become the youngest ever honorary detective in New York's history.

XOXOXOXO

They were walking on the sidewalk, in downtown Lima. Like any random day from high school…except, now, they were much older than their New Direction days, and now they had Freddie in tow, holding both their hands. They were laughing at another horrible knock knock joke of his.

"God, that's horrible, Freddie!"

"Yeah, it is. But you laughed!"

"True. But that still doesn't make it - Quinn? What is it?" Rachel said to the blonde, who had frozen dead in her tracks.

"Rachel. 12 o' clock. That's_ Russell's_ sister." Hissed Quinn, softly.

Making at beeline directly for them, was a stern looking woman with a very sour look on her puss.

"Lucy! Is it true?" She screeched, gesturing between Rachel and Quinn. "What they're saying?"

"Wow. And_ hello,_ to you, too, Aunt Dorothea." Grimaced Quinn, as she pinched the bridge of her nose. The blonde continued, in an uncannily measured tone, "What is 'it', and to whom are you referring to as 'they' specifically?"

"Don't be fresh. You know this is Devils' work." Her eyes drifted downwards to the little boy regarding her. With a look of distain, she remarked, "_And_ in front of a child? What kind of mother, what kind of an _example_ are you?"

Quinn straightened to her fullest height. She used her tone reminescent of her HBIC days, one that still caused Rachel to tremble, just a bit. Quinn shoved Rachel and Freddie behind her, as if to shield them from the coming onslaught.

"_Let's get something straight_, old woman." Quinn said, slowly and with emphasis, "You are_ never_ to speak to me; _never_ to my girlfriend, who's proper name is Rachel by the way; and you are _never_, ever, to look, speak, or make reference to my son…ever again. If you do, this is your warning I will get a restraining order and have you arrested. The only disgrace_ here_ is your hypocritical Self."

The woman, startled, quickly regained her composure. "Is that how that_ heathen_ teaches you to speak to your elders?"

"Dorthea, I can tell you _one _thing. Rachel is the type of person who wouldn't call a child "a liar" if a grown adult male touched them in inappropriate places. Rachel wouldn't call it harmless. You see, _Rachel _is the type of person who does the right thing _all the time_, weather people are looking, or not. Because _Rachel _does the right thing—and **she** would never let her child down."

Taking their hands, she started walking away from the stunned woman . Quinn cast a glance over her shoulder and said, as they left, "Oh, and if you want to go to the cemetery and visit Ruthie, her tombstone is the one with the fresh Gardenia bouquet from this morning. Those were my cousins, and still are my favorite, flowers in the world. Instead of looking for who to condemn in the future, perhaps you can ask forgiveness from your Lord for the past. Goodbye, Aunt Doretha."

And Quinn, resolutely, led her family away.

**TBC.**


	18. Chapter19:The Knight's Emergency Session

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

**Pairing(s):** Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

**Rating**: No holds barred. M/NC-17 ratings.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, NYU, or motherhood in general. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required.

**Summary**: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N:** Thank you everyone. A long awaited chapter...

**CHAPTERNEXT: The Knight's Emergency Session **

It was underway.

Quinn's labor of love for Rachel, The Shell Collector, had been published and garnered extensive critical review. Quinn had adapted her short stories into a three act play set to be helmed by Artie Abrahams as Director. However, the real headline grabber, of course, was the one starring in the lead role, Rachel Barbara Berry.

The publicity generated from the real-life couple as documented as a fictional pretend couple was publicity that money just _could not_ buy.

Rachel bubbled with excitement for the initial table read. Five long hours later, after the table read through, the room was somewhat quiet.

"Well… that was_ wonderful_ , I think!" Rachel said, in an overly enthusiastic tone.

There was a quiet din of her co-stars murmured agreement, and everybody filtered out of the room one by one. "I'll meet you at home, Rach. I'm going to just stay back a sec, and talk to Artie- okay?" Quinn kissed her fiancee's head as she left.

"Okay, babe. Don't be long."

"Of course not."

With just the two of them left, Artie and Quinn looked at each other.

"That's stunk to high hell, didn't it?" Quinn asked.

"And_ beyond_." concurred Artie, dismally.

"We can't let Rachel put her name to this ...this is_ awful."_

"Quinn, as noble as your sentiments are, we have 45 days until opening night. We are never going to be able to secure reimbursement for investors without opening- i.e. insurance claims, anything…we're kind of stuck."

The pair looked glumly at each other, for what seemed like forever.

"Then what are we going to do?" Quinn asked.

"Can you do some rewrites?"

"Not anything to save this turkey. Artie, this is all my fault …I pressured Rachel into doing this...she felt obligated because I wrote it, for her…"

"Quinn, honestly this is not your fault. Your words were beautiful. My god, you were nominated for the Pulitzer! Listen, not _everything_ can be adapted into a play. There's just_ too_ much verbiage to stay within the confines of a two-hour production. Rachel is just too awkward with all of_ those words_ to say…"

"You know what we need to do, right?" Quinn Intimated.

"I'm not doing anything illegal, Quinn."

"No, Artie! We need to caucus."

"Caucus?"

"Yes, Caucus. We need to convene a session of the Knights of the Roundtable ..._without _Rachel. Artie, this is a bona-fide emergency."

"You're right, Quinn. I'll call Mr. Muccino."

XOXOXO

Mr. Muccino had locked the front door, as it was well after closing hours. He kept a lookout to make sure no Paps or any other undesirables would be busting up the secret session.

Or worse… Rachel.

"Thanks for coming guys… I really appreciate this." said Artie.

Quinn continued. "We have a _stink pile_ of dog manure on our hands."

Puck said what everyone around the table was thinking. "So, what do you need us for? I mean, you say dog shit, and I'm thinking, hey! Do you need some shovels, BabyMama?"

"Not literally, Puck. Figuratively. _The Shell Collectors'_ read through was today, and it was horrific." Quinn said, bluntly.

"Why don't you just ask for some more time?" Shelby reasoned.

"We can't do that - the investors of put a rush on this as is. There is no more time. First wave marketing has already gone out."

"Oh, shit, You're somewhere with a creek, a paddle, and a penguin, upstream or something." Brittany mused.

Sam stood up. "Guys. Remember what Coach Beiste used to say? "_Early's late if you make tomorrow yesterday._" He smiled proudly.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Trouty Mouth, what the fuck does that even mean?"

"Yo, Santana, get right!" Interjected Sam's wife, Mercedes. "He means get your cross-trainers on because were going to fix the shit."

Oh! A collective murmer broke out, understanding. First to roll up her proverbial sleeves, Tina spoke next. "So what's the problem? What do you need?"

"God, its so lumbering its not even funny. There are just …**.Lots** of words." Quinn said. "Lots and lots and_ lots_ of words…"

"Spoken by Rachel?" Lauren Zeiss interrupted. "Oh fuck, Shoot me now. I couldn't stand it when she would go off on her monologues in Glee...no offense, Fabgay. The only thing that would make it bearable is when she'd occasionally sing…at least that redeemed her and healed my bleeding ears, somewhat."

Artie and Quinn looked each other.

Quinn then looked at Santana.

They then looked, the three of them, simultaneously...at _Puck._

"Woah, Pod snatcher people, What are you looking at **me** for?" He said, nervously.

Mike Chang whacked him on the back. "Dude, if there is_ anybody_ that was the master the last minute assignment, it's you! And you write **_music_**!"

Santana laughed. "I don't know what you're all giddy for, Dancing Asian Man, you gots to get your choreography on!"

Mike jumped on the table in a quick MJ, and after singing "hee hee hee," sat back down after Shelby gave him a look.

Puck interrupted. "Wait a minute, _wait a minute_, wait just a fuckin' minute! I love my Jew sis as much is the next person. I'd love to help her out, but I'm gonna tell you right now, Goddamn Quinn, I could**_ not_** get through two pages of your fucking book! I don't understand how that's a love story between you and Berry…look, there just too many big words. I do well with stuff like, I don't know, should the main character get a tat or not."

"God, I thought it was just me!" Sam said, giving Puck a high five.

"Yes, we realize this…that's why you're going to …hopefully…have some help." Artie said pointedly.

"Yeah, who's that? Like, a translator?" Puck asked.

Quinn and Artie swiveled their heads to their right, looking straight in the eyes of Shelby. When she realized the subject of her focus, Shelby's eyes got wide. "You've got to be kidding. What, you want me to tutor **Puck**?"

"No," Artie said. "We want you to co- arrange with him. Co-write the book and lyrics."

"Shelby, you have a flair for the dramatic." Quinn reasoned. "You've been trained with a classical background - Puck has the edgy understanding . You guys could put together a jammin' score. Rachel needs a killer book and music, to offset the _words_, that are coming off as stilted from her mouth."

"I've never composed a song in my life!" Said Shelby.

"How hard can it be?" Reasoned Britney. "Puck's done it!"

Pointing to her left at Kurt, Quinn said, "Porcelain, you're on costumes."

Kurt turned around his tablet, having already sketched a few designs. "Oh, please, girl! I've been on it since yesterday!"  
And as the band of misfits talked skiing in through the night fueled only by the baskets of breadsticks that Mr. Muccino brought over, and beer on tap, their plan took shape.

Quinn exhaled, beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, she hadn't ruined Rachel's career after all ... she might, with her other fellow Knights, just get it right. Maybe.

_Forty-five days._

XOXOXO

Puck, Shelby, Quinn, and Artie were working over at Shelby's while Rachel babysat Freddie.

"Okay, who's going to address the elephant in the room?" Puck said. "I know you won't, Quinn, because you're all up in that business, but it's my duty to say it if none of you other pussies will."

Shelby rolled her eyes. 72 hours straight of dealing with Puck had left her nerves fried. "What are you talking about, Noah?"

"The fact Rachel, beautiful Jew-goddess she may be, is a little long in the tooth to play the high school Rachel in the first act."

"Hey!" Quinn swatted him. "Is that what you two think?"

Shelby and Artie looked at their shoes.

"Fine. What do you suggest?"

"Well," Artie said, "I heard that girl from "Glee" has become available."

"But that only for a summer hiatus, Artie."

"WHO CARES? First of all, their hiatus on that show last like two years in real time...plus, we're just trying to get through the opening anyway. We can recast if it makes it that long."

"Well, we still need high school Quinn, then." Protested real life Quinn.

"Yeah - this is short notice, indeed." Said Shelby, glumly. "You're not going to find someone who's going to hold their own."

As the group fell silent, they heard from the downstairs en suite, a lilting voice floating up from the downstairs shower._ "I say a little prayer for you..forever, and ever, you'll stay in my arms..."_

Artie's head popped up. "Is that...Beth?"

Shelby said, "Yes, Artie. She's on summer break from NYU, as of last week - _waitaminute_. **No!**"

"She is a dead ringer for Quinn, Shelb." Puck said.

"No!"

Shelby looked furious, and ready to stomp off. Quinn quickly put her hand on Shelby's knee. "Shelby." She said soothingly. "I _agree._ This would be too much pressure for Beth. She's a special education major, for God sakes! She's just not tough enough to handle a stage debut...on Broadway."

Shelby's brow furrowed.

"Plus," Quinn added, "Rachel's seems to think she's pitchy, anyway. She'd never go for it."

Shelby stormed up. "Pitchy? What? I'll show you pitchy!" Shelby stormed over to the stairwell, while Quinn winked at Artie. "Beth! Can you come up here, please? With some clothes on?"

Five minutes later, a toweled Beth looked at the sleep deprived people in her living room. She gave Puck a high five. "Is your ass still here?"

"Yup."

"Are you charging him rent, mom?"

"And fees for mental duress."

"Good. Noticing the quiet blonde in the corner, her face lit up. "Hi, LQF!" She said, squealing when she saw the blonde. As she hugged her and sat on her lap, it was impossible not to notice the stunning resemblance.

"Puck, did you give **_any_ **genetic contribution to this child?" Artie asked, regarding the pair.

"No, thank god. She's totally Quinn...and all Shelby."

"I might get a mohawk, though." She grinned. Another high five.

"No!" Quinn and Shelby said, simultaneously.

"If Freddie was here, he'd jinx you." Beth informed Quinn.

"I'm aware, honey."

"So, Beth, dear." Shelby said, businesslike. "That song you were singing downstairs in the shower? Could you sing it for us up here?"

"What?" She said, screwing up her face. "Like, now? Here? In my towel?"

"You could put on your old Cheerios' outfit." Artie suggested, until Quinn whacked him on the head. "Or not."

"Kay! That would be a walk down memory lane!" Beth giggled, running downstairs to change.

They all exchanged looks. Beth returned, in the Cheerios' unmistakable red, black, and white uniform - although the front logo had changed, it was unmistakably...Quinn.

"Ohmigod, she_ is_ Quinn..."Artie gasped.

"Not really. I never made Captain."

"Thank God." Added Shelby.

"Actually, I can't believe this still fits at all, after my freshman 15! Okay, here's my song, for you weird people in my living room..."

Beth had no idea she was singing her birth mothers' former audition song, nor did she realize she was currently singing it for her _own_ audition, at this very moment. She took her place in the center of the room, and then...showtime! For the next two minutes and 46 seconds, the four of them were transfixed, sent back in time to an era when a hotheaded blonde auditioned for the school's Glee club, ostensibly to "spy" on Rachel Berry and ensure her boyfriend was safe, keeping an eye on him.

It wouldn't be until years later that said hotheaded blonde realized the truth - that it was _never_ about her boyfriend. She auditioned for Glee Club to keep an eye on a certain _bruniette_...

As they watched and listened to Beth sing, the story of the first act all came to life, right before their eyes. Artie grinned. They had found "Young Quinn."

42 days.

**TBC.**


	19. Chapter 20: Beth's Story

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

Rating: No holds barred. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, US News and World Report, the Nobel committee, or motherhood in general. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N:** No Faberry here, but some important background on our favorite adopted random kiddo...

**CHAPTERNEXT: Beth's Story**

Beth Corcoran had always been an observer. It's what comes from being an only child…you don't have a lot of siblings to play with, your taste become decidedly adult, and you mature, in some ways, faster than your peers.

Plus, being the genetic child of Quinn Fabray was always its own cross to bear, and the actual child of Shelby Corcoran had its own set of expectations. Pepper it in with the fact she was going to McKinley high, well, that was just inviting comparison.

However, there was one important way Beth was different. Beth was loved. And she had been loved, unconditionally, her whole life. She was secure in who she was. She had a whole community that oddly enough, looked after her. The Berrys, The Shuesters, the Pierces, and one more so than anyone else…

Stacy Sylvester.

Stacy was Sue Sylvester's daughter, who was a wonderful and caring person, and had loved Beth the minute she met her. Other people always saw what was on the outside of Beth…it was impossible to not notice the flawless good looks she inherited; after all, she got her mothers' brains, body, and general appearance, but fortunately her fathers' teeth, eyes, and nose, so nothing required "surgical revision." She made the cheerios' her freshman year, like her birth mother; she also joined Glee, led by her mom to two national titles, after Will Sheuster had stepped down, four years prior. She did all the things that were expected of her, and was always well liked, but generally distant.

On weekends, she would spend one night with Stacy, and one night with her so called "friends". Sue never put her up to it, as that would have been a conflict of interest…but Sue knew, deep down, their time spent was a two way street.

After a sleepover, during their junior year, Beth was cornered in the kitchen by her coach. "Corcoran. I never said congrats, on Junior Prom Queen. Congrats."

"Oh,_ that._ Thanks." She said, blushing. "I have a feeling Stacy actually stuffed the ballot box."

"Nah, she didn't. But I did see her threatening some freshman."

Beth laughed.

"Beth, I've always wondered. What is it…what do you get out of hanging out with Stacy?"

"what do you mean?"

"Is it pity?"

"What? Pity for what?"

"Newsflash, Fabr- I mean, correction, _Corcoran._ Sorry, you just look so freakishly like your bio mom that I'm wondering if you're, in fact, a science experiment. Anyway, Corcoran, Stacy has Down's Syndrome."

"I'm aware. However, I think Trisomy 21+ is the more politically correct term, these days. Again, I say...**_so_**?"

Sue narrowed her eyes.

"She has _limits_, Beth."

"So do I. So do you. Stacy's advantage is, she knows ahead of time what hers_ actually_ are. That's very liberating."

"You're an odd duck, Beth."

"So I've been told."

"So," Sue cleared her throat. "I got a call from Shelby. You know she's going to do that play with Beaks Berry, right?"

"Yes, of course."Beth chuckled.

"Are you going to transfer to a New York School for your senior year?"

There was a pause. A long pause. "I guess so," Beth said, glumly.

"Well, you might have another option. Shelby asked if you could stay here, your final year, with us."

"Really?" Beth's face lit up with utter joy.

"Really. But I have one requirement: when you go to New York on the weekends, take Stacy sometimes. She should see some of the world."

"Cool! Ohmigod, of course!"

"No booze."

_"Roger."_

"No unprotected sex."

_"Roger."_

"No breast augmentation."

"No worries."

"And don't think I won't kick your ass still in practice, just because you're under my roof."

"I wouldn't expect anything less, Coach."

Later on, she told her friend the good news. "I'm staying with you senior year! I don't have to go to New York!"

"I know, I was elvesdropping."

"You mean, eavesdropping."

"Whatever."

"Nosey." Admonished Beth, with a grin.

"Yup. Beth...you never answered my mom."

"About what?"

"About why you're my friend?"

The pleading eyes in spectacles told Beth she wasn't going to be able to joke her way out of this one. Hugging the girl that was easily a foot and a half shorter than her, she said, "Oh, Stacy! You and I have been friends before I even had a period! God! Don't you know,** I'm** the lucky one? I'm_ so lucky_ to have a friend, like you!"

Crouching down to look her smaller friend directly in the eye, Beth said, earnestly. "Stacy, you are the only person, in the entire world, that has never expected _anything _from me, other than to be your friend."

"…and to drive me places."

Beth laughed. "That, too. Stacy, you know there's a lot of pressure being who I am...what I am. You know, you're the _only person_ in the whole world that makes me feel like...I'm exactly who I should be. You're my friend, my only true friend. And you always have been."

"You're mine, too, Dork."

XOXOXOXO

Beth kept her promise to Sue, of sorts; she didn't exactly take Stacy once in awhile to NYC with her on her weekends; she took her EVERY time. Their special bond and Beth's unique understanding, despite being a "typically developing" child, of Stacy's continual struggles, gave her a depth most freshman lacked. It came as no surprise to Shelby or Sue when Beth declared her major to be Special Education as a freshman at NYU.

"Well, I guess you'll never retire, Corcoran." Sue said to Shelby, on the phone, in a joking voice.

"I blame you, Sylvester. She had the GPA to be a doctor or an engineer!"

"Hey…do not pin this on me… I didn't tell her to get on the one way train to Poverty Central, Teacher pensionville! At least you got her set up in your line of work, that twirling around for dollars, on stage. That would appear to be more lucrative."

"That wasn't me, that was Quinn, all the way. Blame your former Captain."

"I blame her all the time, for everything. Global warming, individual snack packs that don't open, and wedgies. The list is endless."

"Sue, I didn't call to gripe about teacher's salaries, or your HBIC, although we could. I called to ask a favor."

"_Now what?_ I feed, house, and occasionally bathe your kid for a year, what's left?"

"I need you to come to New York in a few months, put on an ugly bridesmaid's dress, and be in my wedding."

"Oh, holy crap. Who is it?"

"No hazing."

"I make no promises."

"_Noah Puckerman_."

"I think we have a bad connection. That sounded a whole lot like you said 'Noah Puckerman.'"

"That's because I did…_Susan_."

Sue chortled. "Well, right-on, girlie! I guess I'll have to laminate your cougar club card now. Mine's gold embossed after I played around with Justin Bieber last year…but I had to get rid of him. Too needy."

"The young ones are."

"Indeed."

"but it keeps 'em around."

"Preach, sister, preach. Alright, you can count on Sue Sylvester, ugly dress stinking up the joint, rolling her eyes next to you as you lead yet another child astray."

"Thank you."

"Anytime.

As she hung up the phone, her face clouded over. Shelby was marrying Puck…_Shelby was marrying Puck! _Those four words made it very unlikely a return to Lima was in the cards for Shelby, and by proxy, her daughter. Sue began to pace. With Beth at NYU, well, there really wouldn't be any reason for the Corcorans to come back to Lima, now.

Her face darkened.

Sue picked up the phone. "Hello, Chuck? I've thought it over. Yes, I've decided. Count me in."

**TBC.**


	20. Chapter 20: Second Chances

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

Rating: No holds barred. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, US News and World Report, the Nobel committee, Justin Bieber, or motherhood in general. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N:**

**CHAPTERNEXT: Second Chances**

The Knights had pulled to together. "The Shell Collector" was now...a musical!

The sheer "emoting" that cycled through Rachel's face when she learned this small detail was priceless. So priceless, in fact, Freddie _filmed it_ and kept threatening to post it to You Tube every time he got mad at his Mommeliah.

However, getting this clunker sea legs was not going to be easy. It would require a cast of thousands, a cost of millions, several Diva's, and the reemergence of the HBIC to make it happen.

The stress had caused Artie to grey at the temples.

Quinn started chain smoking…_again._

Beth alternated between fear she had gone insane for thinking she could do this; and sheer and utter annoyance with her co-stars (The Boyfriend character and Baby Rachel – both on break from "Glee" during their epic hiatus.). She actually _hit_ Baby Puck in the nuts-on purpose- because he used the word "retarded" as a slur. And she confirmed what she feared - her birth mother had NOT been a very nice person in high school.

Rachel? Her nerves manifested in the emergence of a bizarre fetish...a desire to have public sex with Quinn, frequently.

Quinn wasn't complaining.

If it weren't from the constant stream of delicious food catered into the cast by Muccino's Italian Cuccina, half of the cast wouldn't have eaten during the day.

However, Artie was pleased, all in all, as he surveyed the hustle and bustle of the entire theater's goings-on. The musical book was _spectacular._ One of the best Artie had ever heard. Puck worked best under pressure, after all; in 5 days, he and Shelby had delivered as promised. Shelby captured a large chunk of Quinn's words and intent into the lyrics, so that entire volumes of the previous script were able to be chopped. The spoken dialogue was now _manageable._

"My God, you're a wizard." Quinn said to Shelby.

"I prefer_…witch_." Shelby said, too exhausted to yawn.

Quinn sniggered. "God, who knew the love story between some dumb cheerleader and a singing munchkin would be so damn **_epic_**?"

Shelby put her hands on Quinn's shoulders and looked at her meaningfully. "Who knew? _Every single person_ that was around you two at the time knew, Quinn. Everyone. It really was, _and is_, **epic**."

"_Was_, I hope. Not is. I'm getting too old for this drama. No is, please."

Shelby spoke with a twinkle in her eye. "Well, Quinn, then I suggest you make my daughter respectable? Because I certainly don't see a ring on it."

"_What_?"

"_MMmm_-hum." She clicked her teeth.

"Why do **I** have to be the one to provide a ring?"

Brittany, sitting next to Mike while he was trying to explain the female blocking, was in close proximity to them, and had overheard this conversation. She went and grabbed Kurt and Tina, giggling. Shelby waited until they were in place Behind Quinn. "Well, _Quinn,_ because _until_ you put that ring on her finger…" She spun Quinn around by her shoulders to face the three Gleesters, Kurt, Brit, and Tina, all readied, in position.

"Hit it, gals!" Kurt called out.

Quinn's mouth dropped open as she watched the three of them do an encore performance of "Single Ladies" ... complete with choreography.

"Okay, okay, _okay_, nerds! Stop,_ you're making my eyes bleed_!"

Brit giggled, as she hopped up to rejoin Mike. As she passed Quinn, she kissed her on the cheek. Whispering in her ear, she said, "You have to buy the ring, Q. It's because _you're_ the man."

Shelby laughed at the dumbstruck look on Quinn's face.

**_Showtime! Twenty days left..._**

XOXOXO

Rachel and her co-stars were terrific. They only had to substitute two or three of the original cast members, minor ones at that, as the actors originally cast were versatile enough to pull off the singing. Recasting Act One proved to be minimally painful; The Glee kids they had picked up (two additional ones in addition to Lea) were all used to fucked up schedules and having to deal with last minute changes…so they were pros. Puck called in some favors, and procured a few pop stars randomly. Beth turned out to be a gem, and Artie had a vocal coach, in addition to Shelby, work with her so that in the 15 days until opening night her voice wouldn't be strained. It might even have legs to go for 7 nights a week!

If they made it past night one, of course.

The sets were completed, in part, because Artie and Quinn had brought in Finn's construction crew to work overtime, and he gave them the "friends and family" rate which kept it within budget. "It's the least I can do for Rachel." He said, resolutely. He gave Quinn a salute and headed off.

It all had that "Let's Put On A Show!" energy reminiscent of the Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney days, without the amphetamines.

Artie and Quinn were getting ungodly working hours out of everyone committed to this production because of a little common sense, and a "let's do it for Rachel!" flair. Quinn and Artie realized why things were hard for people to work longer hours, and they lifted that burden. They were able to work such demanding hours, for example, for the "little touches" like free child/family care; Sam, Blaine, Emma Pilsbury, and Coach Beiste had volunteered during the day performing child care, kids activities, on set tutoring; they also had a team for elder care as well. (_"God Bless the teacher's Summer Vacation!" Artie said to Quinn. "Amen to that, Brother." She concurred._) Mr. Muccino set up the practical equivalent of a second location on site that catered delicious food; he allowed cast members to take home food to parents, lovers, roommates, so that food and cooking was never a burden; Ben Jacob Isreal and Artie had set up a telecommunications wing in the corner of the theater so that cast members and crew could skype or facetime with loved ones. Ben was also shooting exclusive footage of the "behind the scenes" production, strictly licensed to Quinn and Artie.

"I don't want to see a pair of Rachel's underwear in your pocket, _Isreal_." Growled Quinn, in a menacing posture.

"No-_ No_- way, Quinn." He stuttered.

He then started to palpably shake as Quinn leaned forward towards him. He closed his eyes, and braced for the inevitable hit. He almost fainted when he felt her arms wrap around him in a huge... _hug?_

"Good. Because you're growing on me, Isreal, and I'd hate to have to knock you out for perving on my woman."

Nervously, he put his arms gingerly around the sides of the former HBIC to return the hug, and blushed from head to toe. If he could see them, he would have been surprised to know, Quinn's eyes were twinkling, as she laughed. "Hug me like you _mean it,_ Jacob."

So he did.

He almost peed his pants when she kissed him on the cheek and said, "Ben, sincerely...thank you _so much_ for coming in and helping with this. I know you've been really busy at Microsoft, so this means a lot. Thanks for taking my call, thanks for coming to help, just.._.Thank-you_."

"Thank you for the second chance...Qu..Qu..Quinn!" He smiled.

"That's what its about isn't it? Second chances?"

An unmistakable voice bellowed from the aisle of the theater. "_Ben Jacob Isreal!_ Get your hands **off** my woman!" Rachel said. He squeaked when he saw Rachel was now storming towards them.

"You two have some _real_ territory issues, Fabray!"He said as he scurried off.

"Tell me about it!" She shouted after him.

Rachel positioned herself next to Quinn. "I was only kidding,_ sheesh_! I didn't mean to scare him off!"

Quinn laughed. "He scares easily."

"You are checking his pockets for my panties, arn't you?"

Quinn shot her a lock. "Speaking of scary, Quinn, darling... is it my imagination, or did I see _Karofsky and Azimo_ and some other thick necks guarding the stage door?"

"You did."

"Um, why?"

"Because the paps have been_ relentless._ What with hiring the Glee kids and then bringing in that guy from One Direction last week...its meant a lot of psychotic fans and safety issues."

"I don't have psychotic fans?"

"You have fans._ Theater_ fans. They have etiquette. Paps and TV…and boy bands….not so much."

"So we are entrusting our lives to Karofsky and Azimo? Have you gone insane?"

Quinn laughed. "Look, Santana has undercover cops outside, all over the place. They recommended it. Kurt is really good friends with Karofsky nowadays, and his husband..."She let that sink in. "And, he's a sports agent now. He and a few of his injured players are doing this for some extra scratch and to help us out. Azimo works as a bouncer downtown and has been a bodyguard for Gaga and Keisha. They know what they're doing, and they're working with the lead cop and Santana. I don't have much to do with it."

"How did we pick up Azimo, again?"

Pointing up to the stage at Unique, Quinn said, "They're dating."

"How do you know all this crap, Quinn?"

With a wink, she said, "Hey, who was valedictorian, kiddo? Besides, I'm the producer, remember? I'm not busy up there learning a brand new score, like you are. Besides, Rachel...where would we be, without second chances?"

"Hmm. That almost sounds..._optimistic_, Fabray. What have you done with my hot girlfriend?"

Taking a quick glance around them, Quinn leaned in to kiss Rachel.

Rachel leaned back. "Quinn. Why did you check to make sure no one was looking?"

With a devilish look, Quinn replied, "Because I'm going to do ….**_this._**" She growled, as she shoved the smaller woman up against the wall, pressing her thigh between Rachel's legs.

Rachel gasped, suprised.

But she remained suprised, only for the briefest of moments. She was quickly deveowering Quinn's lips, hungerily kissing her, as if her life depended on it. "Ohhhh," She exhaled. "Quinn, you've got me... wet. So _very_ wet, down below..." Quinn smirked. With one hand, Quinn cupped Rachel's breast roughly, kneading the firm mound between her fingers, insistently. As she squeezed it into a peak, she felt the nipples hardening, even over Rachel's Argyle Sweater costume. She clamped the nipple between her two fingers, and tweaked...**_hard. _**

_"Fuck!_" Rachel said.

Quinn took her free hand, and placed it on the back of Rachel's neck, holding her in place.

"Yes. I plan on it. After all, you're_ mine_." Quinn growled.

Rachel's gazed back at Quinn, her lids incredibly heavy. "Was that in doubt?"

"No," Quinn licked her lips with a feral swipe of her tongue. "I wanted to make sure we're clear on that."

"Crystal. Additionally, I think you ruined my panties."

"Keep them away from Ben Jacob Isreal, then."

"Aye aye, captain!"

And Quinn leaned forward to capture Rachel's lips in yet another bruising kiss. Rachel's thready breath was coming even faster, and Quinn couldn't help but to be turned on by the rise and fall of her heaving breasts. She tweaked again, then slid her hand down, underneath Rachel's waistband.

"We have to be fast, Rach. You're up next."

"I'm so fucking horny right now for you, it won't take much...hurry!"

Without preamble, Quinn watched Rachel's face, as she hooked her fingers, and thrust four fingers as deep as she could manage at that angle, into the bruinette.

"Oh! Fuck! Fuck, yes...don't stop..._that_, Quinn; Just _don't fucking stop!_"

"I don't plan on it."

She wasn't kidding...she was wet as hell, down below. Quinn mused that there was a high likelihood she could fist her, dry, but given they were barely hidden in the corner of the theater...subitly was key. She thrust in and out of Rachel like a woman possessed.

"I love how _needy_ you get, Rachel...I love how you want me to _fuck_ you_,_ _all the time_,"Growled Quinn.

"Oh, yes! I'm coming! _I'm coming!_"

In, _out._ In, _out._

"Yes, Quinn!" Hissed Rachel. "Don't stop...don't stop...don't..."

**Harder.** Faster.

"_Fucccccccck!_"Her walls clenched, and Quinn pulled her sopping fingers out of Rachel with finality. The diva collapsed into Quinn's grasp, with a JBF smile. "You're _soooo_ good, Quinn." She kissed her, dreamily, on the lips.

"Rachel Berry, you're needed, stage left!" The overhead called.

"Coming!" She yelled, as she scurried off, blowing Quinn a kiss.

Quinn chuckled. "Actually, _you just came_..." Shaking her head, she said, "Wow, that's horrible, even for me." Quinn left to take her seat in the back of the theater, with a smile on her face.

**_Showtime! Fifteen days left._**

TBC.


	21. Lets Put On A Show!

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

Rating: NC17/M

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, US News and World Report, the Nobel committee, or motherhood in general. I own very little, actually. I really don't own Justin Bieber or any part of the New York Times _or_ the theater named in this review. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N:** Crazy people reading this- thank you, a lot, for reading and suggesting and all that good stuff. Not to go all zen or morph into Yoda or anything, _but what will be, will be_...but that doesn't mean aspects don't need to be cleaned up, so please keep reviewing. Dizzle24 - thanks for the insight, I've been cleaning house a bit. AlyBerry, Cuccinio2002, laurenknight, and w1cked, everyone...thanks as always for your encouragement!

**CHAPTER NEXT: LET'S PUT ON A SHOW!**

They were winding down. The final dress rehearsal was within sight at the end of the week. Opening night was the following Tuesday. Rachel was now secretly relieved Quinn had hired the thick necks, as it was close to impossible to get to the stage door now through the crowds, without them. Today seemed to be particularly difficult, as she pushed her way through the throngs of people and photographers to get to work.

"Rachel! Rachel! How are you and Quinn _doin'?"_

_Flash!_

"Where's that royal piece of ass of yours?"

"Smile, Rachel!"

_Flash!_

"Back away from the ropes, Sir." David Karofisky pushed the eager Pap away from Rachel. "Ms. Berry, this way." He smiled, as he ushered the diminutive princess in.

"Thank you, David."

He winked.

_What an odd universe,_ Rachel thought._ I'm comforted by the presence of Dave Karofsky and I just had sex with Quinn Fabray one hour ago. _ Rachel walked into the theater, still five minutes early, but to Rachel Berry, that was late. She cocked her head to the side as she listed to a very passionate Beth on the phone. She didn't mean to eavesdrop, but frankly, since Rachel was one of the few show business types that understood the adage, "Early to Bed, Early to Rise…." it meant that she and Beth had the place to themselves. So it was impossible not to overhear, as they were the first to arrive.

Beth was shushing the other end of the phone. "Shhh, Shhh. Stacy, Stacy…stop crying. Please. I can't understand you…What happened?"

Rachel watched the young woman's face suddenly contort with anger.

"What? A_ Slushee?_ Who? **_Who_** did it, Stacy?"Beth was livid. "I'll kill them! Damn it, Betsy was supposed to be keeping an eye on things this year! I'll kill her too!"

Rachel stepped over to the screen where Beth was talking.

"What?" She snapped at Rachel, in frustration.

Rachel put up her arms. "_Woah,_ tiger! I overhead the conversation and I thought…." She scanned Beth's wounded eyes. "Well, if you've calmed your Italian down a bit," Rachel continued, "I know_ quite a bit_ about Slushee destruction, and I thought I could offer my help."

Tears were forming in Beth's eyes. Rachel squeezed her shoulder. Stepping up to the audio screen, Rachel said, "Hello, Stacy! Its Rachel Berry here, I thought I might offer you a few tips about Slushee clean up."

"_Rachel Berry?_ Didn't you go here, like 100 years ago? Did they even_ have_ Slushees then?" Stacy said, skeptically, on the other end.

Beth laughed. Rachel gave her a quieting look.

"They most certainly did have 'em, honey. I must have been at the receiving end of _at least_ 150 of them. First question – what flavor is it?"

Stacy tasted a chunk from her sweater. "_Mmmm._ Wild Cherry."

"Oh, rats! Honey, that is the_ worst_ one, it stains the most! You've got to get to a bathroom, immediately. There's one on the second floor, end of the hall, by the orange lockers. Go there now, I'll wait."

Rachel looked over at Beth, who was calming slightly, and gave her a wink.

"I'm here, Ancient Rachel Berry."

"Great. Okay, now you need to take your sweater off and run it under cold water – NOT HOT. Cold. Oh, lock the door, I forgot to tell you that."

Stacy got that going.

"Now, what color is your hair? Is it blonde like your mom's?"

"Yes."

"Damn. Okay, start rinsing under the sink, with cold water, now, just to get as much out as you can."

After a moment, the girl reported, "done. It looks pink."

"It will. Unless…Stacy, look at the end of the room. Is there a paper towel holder that doesn't have paper towels in it?"

"Yes."

"Okay, check to see if there is a key taped underneath it."

"There is."

"Unlock the paper towel holder."

"The empty one, Ancient Rachel Berry?"

"Yes, but very slowly. I think there's still some stuff in there, hopefully"

A clatter of noise as things fell and hit the ground was heard.

"Holy Crap! Are you trying to kill me, Ancient Rachel Berry?"

"No, dear. Okay, get the Borax – it's the blue container, and the toothbrush taped to it."

"This stuff looks old."

"It is, but what choice do you have?"

"Truth."

"Okay, now go over to the sink, turn off the water. Sprinkle the Borax everywhere you see a stain, and just leave it for a minute."

Stacy did as she was told. "Okay, done."

"Next, is there a spray bottle with some clear liquid in it?"

"Yes, it stinks."

"Yes, it's got ammonia in it, among other things. Okay, now this is important: spray it in your hair, but do NOT get it in your eyes, Stacy."

"Woah!" Beth interrupted. "Hey, um, you should probably close your eyes, Stac."

"How am I going to see where I'm spraying, Dork? Do you think I'm going to spray it in my eyes?"

"Well, er….yes?"Beth said.

"Hey – I may be retarded, but I'm not_ stupid_."

"You go, girl." Rachel encouraged. "Tell me when you're done."

After a few nail biting minutes, Stacy reported, "I'm all done. My eyes are fine. But this plant next to the sink ain't lookin' too good."

"We'll deal with the plant later, hon. Okay, now put your head under the sink and rinse it all out with cold water again."

"I'm freezing my tits off, Ancient Rachel Berry!"

"That happens. Keep rinsing."

"Done. Hey- wait! _Woah!_ My hair's normal again! That's a cool trick, Ancient Rachel Berry!" Stacy squealed.

Rachel beamed.

"Okay Stacy, in the third stall – the broken one- there should be a clean hand towel rolled up in the tampon dispenser. Get it, if it's still there, and towel dry your hair. Blot, don't scrub. Remember, BLOT."

The girl returned. "Got it did it, and there are seven condoms there, too."

"Hmm, that's a new addition. Put those back when you're done."

"Okay. Now what?"

"Take the toothbrush and gently scrub the stains with the toothbrush while you run cold water on it at the same time. "

"Woah, it's coming out! Cool!"After finishing, she said, "But my sweater... its sopping wet!"

"Wring out the excess water, and put it under the hand dryer until it's dry. And Stacy, bring an extra set of clothes tomorrow, just in case."

"Wow, thanks Ancient Rachel Berry!"

"Stacy, um, now that we've done Slushee's together, could we maybe say…Aunt Berry? Instead of _Ancient_ Berry? That sounds so old!"

"That's because you _are_ old, Ancient Berry!"

Beth laughed. She gave Rachel a heartfelt look of appreciation. "Stacy, did you tell your mom what happened? I want to know if I need to call the police to prevent a homicide."

"No, I didn't."

Beth looked startled. "Why not?"

"Why? Cause she's not here today, Dork! _Duh!"_

Rachel and Beth exchanged a look. "Why not? Where is she?"

"She's doing some more campaigning again today. She's in Dayton and Cincinnati today, then heads up to Cleveland tomorrow."

Now the two theaters bound women were perplexed.

"Campaigning for what, Stacy?" Rachel asked gently.

"Lieutenant Governor. She and some guy with bad breath are running for office together."

"What?" Rachel and Beth said, in unison.

"He's even older than you, Ancient Rachel Berry! Wow...Oh, awesome, my sweater is dry! Beth, I have to get to class, I'm really late. Ancient Rachel, thanks for the help, I'll put your ancient chemicals away before I go, and your ancient condoms, too."

"What?_ Lieutenant Governor?_ Did you say, Lieutenant Governor?" Rachel Echoed.

"See? Your hearing gets bad when you get old, Ancient Rachel! Oh, and Beth, don't be mad at your friend Betsy, she tried to stop him. Pete "The Meat" just threw it over her head. He's an ass."

"Who's staying with you, Stacy?"

"Someone from the agency."

"Oh." Under her breath, Beth muttered, "They're doing this because Sue and I are both gone, and they think they can get away with crap like this."

Rachel whispered back. "Beth, Stacy is a big girl, and she's tough. She can handle this."

"I heard you two whispering. P.S. - Beth, that means post script. Beth, Don't worry. Me and some of the other special ed kids are going to set Pete "The Meat's" custom built hockey stick on fire this afternoon, then throw it in the pool, screaming all crazy-like and pretend we didn't know what fire does because we're mentally retarded._ Its gonna be awesome!_"

"See?" Rachel said.

Beth let out a huge belly laugh. "Ohmigod, that's awesome! _You're _awesome, Stac. You kill me!"

"And you're a dork. Bye Beth. Love you."

"Love you, too."

After they hung up, the two women looked at each other. Beth was the first to break the uncomfortable silence.

"So we learned a few little interesting things, huh, Ancient Rachel Berry? That was a pretty awesome walk through, you did there, with Stacy. Does it, um, matter what the colors are?" Beth said, nervously.

"Absolutely. Blue, Green and Yellow need acidity to remove the stain, and baking power. Red's the worst, though."

Beth sighed. "Do I need to ask why you know so much about this?"

"No, I don't think so." Rachel said, allowing a brief dark look to color her expression.

"LQF…" Beth started, a sad expression on her face. "My mom. She did this to you, didn't she? My mom threw Slushees at you."

Rachel cut her off. "Beth, let's not talk about this. Your mom-LQF_-whatever._ Know this - Quinn was a different person then, but she always had good, inside her."

"What color did she use?"

"Oh, Quinn's calling card was red. All of the Cheerios threw…red. I grew to hate Wild Cherry."

Rachel looked at the younger woman, who had tears welling in her eyes. "Rach, that's awful. Just _awful_…and horrible…and, and-"

Rachel raised her eyebrows. "You mean to tell me, Beth Corcoran, _4 year Cheerio letter winner,_ that you **never **threw a Slushee? In your _entire_ high school cheering career?"

"Not** one**."

"Wait- _really_?"

"Really. Believe it. It's just…mean."

Rachel was speechless.

Beth continued. "Yep. No Slushees. I believed, at first, its why I was passed over for Captain. You know, the title of the ol' HBIC that _my mom.." _Beth said, rather bitingly, "so easy won. Coach said, at the time, that I didn't have what it took- she said I wasn't_ mean_ enough, to be HBIC."

"You said, 'at the time'? What does that mean?"

Beth laughed. "At graduation, Coach took me out to dinner, just the two of us. We talked a lot that night. She said I would have been the absolute_ best_ captain she ever had- because she believed people would have followed me, "to their death" , you know Sue's dramatic style... because they _respected _me, and not out of fear. She said she wanted – badly – to give me the title my sophomore year, just like she had my mother, LQF."

"But she didn't."

"No, she didn't. She didn't, because she didn't want me to have to deal with the pressures of the comparison to the great Lucy Quinn Fabray. And titling me, she felt, would have invited that very comparison. So, instead, she gave it to a girl a year older, and she was fine. The squad did great that year."

"Was she right?"

"Sue generally is. You know, I'll never know. I **_do_** know that I had a lot of fun in Cheerios, and I made a lot of good friends –sort of. It was nice to know that Sue had a method to her madness, and it wasn't just cause I wasn't a bitch. I really did have fun cheering - I get the impression my experience was very different than my mothers'."

"It most_ certainly_ was. Oh my God, Beth, she_ hated_ being a Cheerio."

"Interesting." After a moment, Beth spoke again. "Okay, I can't hold it in anymore." Beth was shaking, now. "Rachel, how could you_ forgive_ her? How could you love such a _horrible_ person, who Slusheed you, and_ humiliated_ you?"

"**Stop** right there, Beth Elizabeth Corcoran! You will _never_ talk about Quinn that way to me again!"

"But-"

"But, nothing. You will not disrespect her, in my presence, again. Understood?"

"Why, Rachel? Yes, I won't, But-"

Rachel put up her hand. "_But_ nothing! Beth, you grew up loved. You grew up _wanted_. If you succeed, if you fail – it's irrelevant. Shelby loves you irregardless. You can't possibly understand what it was like to grow up as Quinn Fabray."

"Yes, but you make your choices, you don't have to be cruel…."

"And Quinn did just that, when she grew up, and got help. She made her choices then, when it was safer for her and she wasn't a terrorized child any longer. It's pretty amazing when you think of the fact she even admitted she loved…another girl, at that age, considering she was raised to think it was an abomination of the Devil's."

"This isn't 1876, Rachel."

Rachel looked exasperated. "Are you _dense_? You can't _possibly_ understand your mother's horrible life. Neither of us can, Beth! It looked so golden on the outside, since that's how the Fabray's operate, but make no mistake…it was _tragic._ Tragic, Beth." Rachel paused, taking a breath to steel her nerves. "I would see the welts she would try to hide when she came home with a B…Actually, it was a B+, as I recall..." Rachel shook her head, tears in her eyes. "That was one _fucked up_ family, Beth. You do know they kicked her out of the house when she was pregnant with you, right?"

"Yes..." Beth said, uneasily.

"Well, did you know that Quinn has a cousin, who is dead in a cemetery in Lima, because her father beat her for telling a guidance counselor she was being touched?"

Beth was shaken. "Wait…is that Ruthie? I though she committed suicide, due to her mental illness…."

Rachel scoffed. "I guess that's what _murder _becomes when you have money and standing. If her father wasn't rich, and her mother wasn't a Fabray, I imagine the cause of death might have read a little differently on the death certificate. I also imagine this fabricated 'mental illness' would be recognized for what it was...post traumatic stress disorder induced from years of abuse, Beth."

Beth was shaking, now.

"So when **you** sit_ in judgment _of Quinn, think to yourself, how hard must it have been for her. This….this _hollow_ girl, she fell in love, despite herself. She fell in love with a loud, obnoxious, Jewish daughter of two proudly _out_ gay men. ** A girl,** Beth! She tried to not feel these feelings, but she couldn't help herself. Everything she did just made it worse…so she did the only safe thing she could think of…" Rachel looked at Beth, meaningfully. "She tried to make me _hate_ her. She rationalized, maybe _then_, if I hated her, I'd go away…."

"But you didn't."

"Nope." Rachel said, lightly. "I'm just_ awesome_, in that way." She hugged Beth, and started dragging her away. "Enough heavy talk. Let's go see what Mr. Muccino's got in store for us this morning!"

XOXOXOX

Artie would often recount, looking back, that something happened to Beth's acting skills with a mere seven days left to go on the clock. She went from an amateur thespian, delivering a merely _adequate_ performance as Q , and blossomed overnight into an _actress_. Out of nowhere, Beth developed _depth_, and offered an incredibly layered performance.

Beth Corcoran, walking into the shoes of her birth mother, with seven days left before opening night, delivered an interpretation well beyond her experience or years, portraying Q as woman who was….well, _who she was_. Beth offered rendition of "Q" that was true to the flawed heroine that she was at that time. Young Q was simultaneously tragic and arrogant; loving and conflicted; but undoubtedly irresistible, and madly in love.

Beth quickly dismissed any speculation when asked. If she did comment, it was something along the lines of, "Someone made me aware of how truly complex the human condition actually is, at a critical junction. I got a new lease on Young Q at just the right time. Through this process, um, I learned a lot about my incredible birth mother. Without this opportunity, I wouldn't have had this chance, otherwise. She would have forever remained an enigma to me...a porcelain Goddess, just like everyone imagines her to be. You know,_ untouchable._ But she's not. She's warm, and kind, and shy...and she loves Rachel, enough to be a better person. So I'm grateful, because, well…my birth mother is … well. She's awesome." Quinn never asked why, but Beth started coming around to see her on breaks, and hug her, and ask her a million questions; she even gave her a framed picture of them a day before opening night. Quinn felt a swell of happiness in that moment, and hugged Beth for all she was worth. Rachel never mentioned the conversation or took the credit for their newfound closeness - she didn't have to. She was Rachel Berry...and she self-proclaimed, she was just "awesome" in that way, after all...

Also, with seven days to go, the cast learned that McKinley's former Cheerios coach, Sue Sylvester, had filled in on the Republican ticket for Lieutenant Governor, running with Charles Grassroot, the two time incumbent who had taken a serious hit in the polls when news of his gambling issues came to light. On top of it, the sitting Lieutenant Governor had a sudden cardiac event, and was gone. "It's a lame duck appointment," he had reassured his old friend, Sue. Sue smiled, and shook his hand, thinking to herself, _that's what you think, Chuck, you pompous asshole. Just you wait. You obviously don't know Sue Sylvester._

Back in New York, the cast was getting ready to do press starting on Wednesday, Dress on Friday and again on Monday; with opening night on Tuesday. Piece. Of. Cake. What could go wrong?

Quinn sighed. Everything could go wrong. She was the expert, after all. Quinn sat in the back row, quietly reflecting while watching rehearsals, she offered a silent prayer.

_Lord, I know I've let you down in the past. I **know** this. But Lord, please look at the good people here that brought this to life…Rachel, Beth, Artie…these are really good, kind, and decent people. They don't deserve to fail. They don't deserve my curse. Please, Lord, be merciful; don't take my existence out on them. Please. They should have better. In the Lords' name, Amen._

Quinn gazed upwards towards the rafters, even though it was a theater and not a church, but more out of habit, really, in finishing her silent prayers. She took out a Kleenex from her clutch, hoping to wipe the tears that had seemingly gotten stuck in her eyes, before she saw her Rachel again.

**_Showtime! Six days, and a wake up, to go…._**

**TBC.**


	22. The New York Times Review

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

Rating: This chapter is decidedly G. Sorry.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, US News and World Report, the Nobel committee, or motherhood in general. I own very little, actually. I really don't own Justin Bieber or any part of the New York Times _or_ the theater named in this review. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N:** As always, thank for reading and suggesting and all that good stuff. Keep reviewing. I'm mortal, after all, I like to read them.

XOXOXOXOX

THE NEW YORK TIMES THEATER REVIEW

**She Sells Sea Shells**

By CHARLES BRANTFORD

Rachel Berry, the Broadway veteran, has staked her claim. She owns this theater, and she will own you.

Making her ninth Broadway appearance in "The Shell Collector," the new musical that opened on Tuesday night at the Al Hirschfeld Theater, this storied singer brings to life and electric score created by her pal, Noah Puckerman, and her mother, composing newcomer, Shelby Corcoran (known to audiences for her Tony award winning role as Thema in Night, Mother). Try to resist if you must. But the three act ride that is "Shell Collector," you might as well give in to Ms. Berry's audience-hugging charisma; she is undeniable. She is a hurricane.

"Shell Collector," with a book by Quinn Fabray (yes, _that_ Quinn Fabray), and directed by Artie Abrahams, propped up by a dazzling original score by Ms. Corcoran and Mr. Puckerman, serves as a reminder that you don't always have to be a masochist to enjoy being smashed by a steamroller. From the outset, this show comes rushing at you head-on, all but screaming: "Love these two women- or else!" It's a shameless emotional button pusher of the most excellent kind.

has been known as the perennial Broadway bridesmaid when it comes to Tony time; but in her portrayal of Short Stack, a vulnerable misfit, bright and hard on the outside but with a sweet and melting center, she best not be denied come Tony time, this year. This is a defining role for her, and she seems to sing from deep inside her heart during the truly gut wrenching solos in Act II and III.

Inspired by the Pulitzer-nominated literature of the same title, "Shell Collector" tells the tale of two star crossed lovers – both female – who come from very different worlds, yet attempt to end up together despite their circumstances, and despite themselves. Like "Bye Bye Birdie," "Hairspray," and "Kinky Boots" before it, it is a joyous ride about finding your passion, overcoming prejudice, defining true love, and transcending stereotypes. However, it does it with a dramatic heft that is quite unexpected.

Act One introduces us to the young Short Stack (played perfectly by Ms. Lea Michele), and Q, which features in her stunning Broadway debut, Ms. Beth Corcoran. Ms. corcoran is a the rare delight; the novice with the chops of a veteran. This is not unexpected, given her theater pedigree; her family contains Ms. Fabray, Mr. Puckerman, and Ms. Corcoran. Anything less than sublime would be failure. Fortunately, she delivers. The two actresses do a fine job of portraying the frustrated and repressed longing that marks their high school existence.

However, the musical truly hits its stride with a bang during Act Two. From the second she enters the stage, Ms. Berry owns it. I dare you to take your eyes off of her, even for a second. This is one of those moments in time when you will say, "I was there. I _saw_ Rachel Berry originate the role of Short Stack in "The Shell Collector." I was there!" It is a bravura performance of the highest caliber. Q and Short Stack navigate their misdirection past husbands, careers, children, and yes, even Broadway. The production reaches its high point in two late second act and third act numbers, in which Broadway folk meet English folk, in the "Welcome to America, Now Go Back Home" number, and when the aggressive lawyer played by Rosario Dawson, gives Q and Short Stack a lecture on what "lady lovin' entails" is absolutely sidesplitting.

Under Mr. Abrham's precise direction, they do what you want performers in musicals to do: they define specific characters by the way they sing and move. From their entrances, the cast members build up a bank of good vibrations. The choreography done by Mr. Ken Chang and Dr. Brittany Pierce is seamless. This is a vibrant moving piece that flows from start to finish, with the vibrant colors and costuming we've come to expect from Mr. Kurt Hummel.

At the beginning of Act III, a non-traditional format for a musical, you'll find yourself wondering- do they end up together? Do they end up picking up the figurative shell on the beach – a metaphor that is repeated too frequently, in this reviewers' opinion, in the rollicking production. However, that is the singular flaw of this stunning piece, and that's a stretch. In the zip and zeal tradition of great Broadway finales, "Shell Collector" delivers. "You're Going to Love Me, You'll See," is one of the best curtain numbers since "You Can't Stop the Beat" sent "Hairspray" audiences dancing out of the theater.

Well, you'll have to do yourself the favor of seeing the show to find out if they end up together. But don't bother anytime soon; tickets are sold out through Christmas already.

**The Shell Collector**

Book by Quinn Fabray; music and lyrics by Noah Puckerman and Shelby Corcoran, based on the book, "The Shell Collector," by Quinn Fabray; directed by Artie Abrahams, choreographed by Mike Chang and Brittany Pierce; music supervision, arrangements and orchestrations by Shelby Corcoran; sets by Hudson Construction, Inc.; costumes by Kurt Hummel; lighting by Marsha Ray; sound by John Smith. Presented by Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez and Artie Abrahams, The Queen's English Productions and Second Chances Productions; CJ E&M, Jamiene Beth Doe, Just for Laughs Theatricals, Yasuhiro Kawanawana, Theatre Japan Investors Corp. At the At the Brooks Atkinson Theater, 256 West 47th Street, Manhattan. . Running time: 2 hours 40 minutes.

WITH: Rachel Berry (Short Stack), Betsy Ray (Q), Rosario Dawson (Lima Adjacent), Tina Cohen-Chang (the best friend), Mercedes Jones (The Diva), Beth Corcoran (Young Q), Lea Michele (Young Short Stack) Darren Criss (the boyfriend), and Unique (Young Diva).


	23. Beth's Story, Part II

**Chapter next: Beth's Story, Part II**

* * *

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

Rating: No holds barred. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, US News and World Report, the Nobel committee, or motherhood in general. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N:** No Faberry here, but some important background on our favorite adopted random kiddo...

**Beth's Story, Part II.**

Beth Corcoran had a short run as Young Q, but it was memorable. Supisingly, it was not the beginning of the school term that cause her to vacate her post. Rather, it was the pull of her best friend, in a time of need.

The beginning of fall had always been hard for Stacy; her allergies were horrendous, and with her "ape face hyper plastics" (Beth would later learn it was "midface hypoplasia", a term describing the sinus crowding in the midline region common in Trisomy 21+ patients), the sinus plugging could get real serious, real quick.

The trouble is, her hypervigilant mother was busy with debates, shaking hands, and press conference, and the election wasn't until November! Let's face it – home health aides, no matter how good, would never equate to the level of a Sue Sylvester. After a routine URI turned into a serious hospitalization, Beth could hear the fatigue in her former coach's voice as she relayed updates to Beth over the phone, and she made a decision.

Beth did what some would consider unthinkable. She walked away from a hit musical on Broadway, took a semester off of College, and went back to Lima, Ohio, to bridge the gap, until November...until Sue could return to her post, as mom.

So she thought.

The cold turned into a pneumonia. Sue finished her election push, relieved that Beth was staying in the hospital with her. They designated Beth her medical proxy. Election night was a squeaker win for the incumbent. The RNC chair would comment, "Thank god for the tits, Chuck! You had 0% female votes before Sue."

Following the count, Sue went immediately to Lima General. She walked straight in to the hospital, where she immediately met a vision of Beth, _yelling_, red in the face, at some resident who, in Sue's estimation, barely spoke English.

"Dr. Ricecakes, Beth…what the hell is going on here?"

"The name is _Dr. Chin_, Mrs. Sylvester."

"That would be, Lt. Governor Sylvester, actually."

"Okay, so...it seems, this girl, _here,_" He said, pointing at Beth for emphasis, "this medical proxy, seems to think she's smarter than the doctors."

Beth literally threw her hands in the air. "That is NOT what I said. God, you idiot, don't you listen?"

"I've explained to you, a thousand times, Ms. Fabray."

"My name is _Corcoran._"

"Yes, well. Corcoran. The white count will be depressed in both infection as well as in Mongoloid children."

"Wow, I didn't think t_hat term_ had been used since, oh, 1950. Don't you mean to say, Doctor, _Trisomy 21+_?" Beth countered.

"Wait a minute- Stacy's white count is down?"Sue said, alarmed.

"It has been, for**_ nine days_**!" Beth said, nodding furiously.

"Why didn't someone tell me?" Sue said, setting her gaze on the young physician.

"Because its nothing unusual in this circumstance. It is nothing to be alarmed about. It does not require "telling." Its...very routine."

Beth huffed.

An older gentleman in scrubs, passing by, said, "Beth Corcoran?"

"Yes?"

He walked over to the group. The resident straightened immediately. "Hello, sir."

Ignoring him, and looking directly at Beth, he said, "I saw you in 'Shell Collector' last month when I was in New York for a conference!_ You were great!_" He smiled broadly. "What are you doing here, in our fair hospital?" He grasped her hand.

"Trying to explain the implications of leucopenia in Trisomy 21+ to this_ idiot_, here." She said gesturing at the resident in frustration.

"Excuse me, Miss Fabray-" The idiot resident interrupted.

"_Corcoran!"_ Sue and Beth said simultaneously.

The older doctor turned back to Beth. "What is your concern, Ms. Corcoran?"

"Well, I am _aware_ of the immune deficiency issue…and her midface hypoplasia, and the higher frequency of pneumonia in Trisomy 21+. But, sir, this isn't_ normal_ for Stacey. She gets a cold, and yes, it usually turns into a bacterial infection with a course of antibiotics, but... she _gets better._ Something isn't right! And then, I saw her labs on her chart this morning, and she has the ANC of an early AIDS paitient! "

"You know how to calculate an ANC?" He asked, curiously.

"I come from a theater background. Yes. Of course I do! That's not important. What bothers me, besides the low white count, is that now her _red blood cells_ are drifting down, too."

The elder doctor looked at the younger one with a raised eyebrow. The resident shrugged, dismissively, "We've been drawing a lot of blood and the patient got IV fluids. Its dilution, likely."

"Really?" Beth countered. "So, why's her oxygen requirement's going up?"

The elder doctor looked more alarmed with Beth's statement. He strode into Stacy's room. Sue looked like she had been punched in the chest when she saw her daughter, comatose, lying in bed, non-responsive.

"This … this…" Sue fumbled.

"This _isn't_ her." Beth finished for the elder woman. "Doctor, _something is wrong_. Something's terribly wrong!"

XOXOXOXO

Unfortunately, Beth was right. The _resident_ was wrong.

When Beth's insistence was finally heard that day by the Department Chair of Internal Medicine, as it would later turn out, Stacy immediately underwent total body scans and a bone marrow biopsy. They confirmed Beth's worst nightmare: Stacy wasn't getting better because her bone marrow was infiltrated with leukemia cells. It was late – in fact, the acute leukemia protocols gave her a very bleak 5 year survival rate. So bleak, that to even start, given the side effects of the chemothearpy protocol, would be cruel. 9 days turned out to be a lifetime, in this instance.

Beth was furious...still. She wanted to scratch the _eyeballs_ out of that stupid resident's head.

She wanted to kill him with her bare hands. She really did...she visualized it every night, as she was falling asleep, crying.

**Idiot.**

After many sleepless days, it finally arrived. The funeral. Stacy's wake was quick, and private. Only a few folks attended, at Sue's request. As Beth stood, from laying down her boquet on her best friends' casket, Sue took Beth by the arm, and led her away. She whispered, "Beth, have you been having fantasies of killing that moronic resident?"

"I…um…How did you know?"

"Because….I know. I _know_. But Beth….that homicide fantasy isn't going to bring Stacy back." Beth hung her head. "Instead, its just going to get _you_ in a whole hot mess of trouble, which is why I recommend never getting caught in these circumstances." She grinned, weakly.

Sue looked at the horizon, squinting her eyes. "No, Beth. Even if you killed him, which I can't say I entirely disagree with, there's a dozen more idiots right behind him, just as arrogant, ready to disregard and misdiagnose handicapped kids. Why? Because they just don't matter. They don't...Beth, there's only one way to really get at this, and its not getting that Dr. Ricecakes, despite the satisfaction you'd feel _twisting his chicken neck with your bare hands until it snaps_..."

"Coach?"

"Oh, sorry. Yes, Beth?"

"What is it, then?"

"What?"

"**What** is it about, if not revenge?"

Sue looked at the young woman who's eyes were blazing. Sue sighed.

"Beth, it's just this simple: It's about getting _justice."_

XOXOXOXOXO

When Beth returned to school, eventually, she was a different person. Before, she was a happy go lucky freshman; she returned, very different, and with the focus of a sniper. She changed her major from Special Education to a double major in Biochemistry and Political Science. Her nightlife habits changed drastically; she withdrew her bid for her grandmothers' sorority. She went out, only occasionally, and other than working out like a maniac, she was generally in the library.

When she took her MCAT's her junior year, she aced them; and when she was accepted, early decision, into Harvard Medical School, she didn't even take a day off to celebrate. Her classmates called her "the Robot," and would groan when she entered the room on the first day of classes, because it meant the curve was blown.

Quinn and Sue were talking frequently around this time, primarily because Quinn was trying to recruit Sue for a position she had created, with the former Cheerio coach specifically in mind. Beth would inevitably come up.

"Governor Sylvester." Quinn said in salutation, over the phone.

"Mrs. Berry."

Quinn laughed. "How are you?"

"Okay, Q, let's cut the crap. How's my Beth doing? She hasn't returned my calls in a couple of days. That mother of hers is worthless now as a source of information ever since she turned into a MILF...so what's going on?"

"What? Really? She didn't tell you?" Said Quinn, distracted by Sue's colorful vernacular, "I thought you'd be the first to know, certainly before me! Well, it appears she is heading, early decision, to the most difficult medical school in the country next summer."

Quinn heard a hoot in the background. "That's my little firecracker!"

Q waited for Sue to calm down. "Y'know, Sue, while I never knew Beth as well as you while she was growing up, I will say – this is _odd._ Odd! She definitely has the mind for medicine…no question. But she never really had an interest in patients, as I recall. She wasn't a real...sciencey person. I saw her more as a lawyer or in advertizing or something. In fact, didn't you tell me she fainted in Cheerios once at the sight of blood?"

"Yes, Q, you did. A toaster to you for picking up on that little fact. Since you're _finally_ cluing in, Q, I'm relieved that marriage hasn't_ totally_ softened your brain. Think about Beth. Haven't you noticed a more, oh, I don't know….a singular focus? Like a young Q, back in the day, when she was in hot pursuit of that Midget tonsil case in glee club wanting to get all up in that New Direction stink?"

"Well, Um, I would say I _have_ noticed a determined focus, about her, Coach. She's definitely…focused. But, Sue, if she's not going to Med School for the reasons of public service and patient care, then...why?"

"She's going to med school," Sue said, conspiratorially, "to **_take care of business, _**Quinn."

TBC.


	24. The Sympathy Date

**CHAPTER NEXT: THE "Sympathy" Date**

It was the Sunday night before the opening night of "The Shell Collector" when Freddie pulled Rachel away from the crowd at dinner. Since Santana and Quinn were in a heated argument, screaming at each other, asserting the other had cheated in Monopoly, no one noticed their disappearance during the commotion.

"They're really loud." Freddie commented.

"God, you should have seen them in high school."

"No thanks! So, listen. I need to talk to you about something important..._Gwen._"

Rachel's heart sank. _Oh, no! _She thought. _I'm going to have to break his little heart!_

"I think you and I have become good enough friends, after all this time, to finally have this discussion."

"Oh-_kay_," Rachel said, slowly.

"I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to come out and say it."

_Shit, shit, shit!_ Rachel thought.

"_Gwen_..."

Rachel shut her eyes, inadvertently. She remembered how it hurt, to have your heart broken, your feelings crushed; she dreaded having to do this to her favorite little man in the whole world. What if he hated women as a result?

He sighed. "..._I'm so sorry._ My heart belongs to another."

Her eyes flew open. "_What?_"

"It just happened."

"What?!"

"Please don't be upset, Gwen."

"_Upset_?" She shrieked.

"Yes, upset. Look, if its any consolation, I talked to my mom about this a little, and she said you're too old, anyway. Plus, she would be willing to ask you out ...out of sympathy."

Rachel stood up. "Sympathy? _Sympathy!_ I'll show Quinn Fabray **sympathy**! And her little son, too!" She went storming out of the room in the direction of the Monopoly game. Fuming, she started to look for things to throw as she started to approach the unsuspecting blonde ahead. Settling on a nearby roll of paper towels, she cocked her arm, and she_ chucked_ it at Quinn, as hard as she could. It richocheted off her forehead, almost hitting Santana as collateral damage.

"_What the-_?" Quinn startled, standing up.

_"What_ to the actual fuck? Berry, _what the hell_?" Santana echoed.

Rachel marched up to Quinn, setting off a cascade of events. First, she raised her finger to Quinn's face. Second, Quinn raised her eyebrows. Third, Santana backed away from the crazy, raising her hands in surrender. Fourth, The Muccino's shuffled the children behind them, for safety. Finally, Freddie pulled out his pocket cam, getting ready to film this for YouTube.

Eyes blazing, hands on her hips, Rachel bellowed, "You'll ask me out, _out of sympathy_? This is what you tell your child about me?"

Quinn looked sheepish. "That isn't exactly what I said, Rach-"

"Oh, shit..." Santana said, shuffling behind the Muccinos.

"You owe me a dollar, San."

"Add it to the tab."

"kay."

"Really, Quinn?" Rachel's voice was rising. "How would you describe it, then? What** did** you tell your son, exactly?"

"Son?" Quinn said weakly.

"Blond kid. Precocious. Pain in the Ass. Goes by Freddie...ring any bells?"

"Oh, yes...him. I...um." Quinn looked helplessly toward her son.

Freddie handed the camera to Bea. "Keep filming." He whispered.

He walked over to his mom, and pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to his mom. He grinned at Rachel and winked.

Quinn then got down on one knee.

With bright hazel eyes, Quinn looked up at Rachel. Voice now firm and steady, she said, "Well, Rachel, I said _this_ to my son, 'It's time that Rachel join our family for good. It's time for her to be the woman I love, with all my heart, for the rest of our lives. Its time for us Freddie, to ask Rachel ...to join our family, and for me to ask this beautiful creature to marry me, and make me the happiest woman alive. That's what I said."

Quinn opened the ring box, with the single lovely diamond solitaire, custom made at Cartier's, just for Rachel. Quinn waited.

The pause got a little longer...then a little longer. Then, it was just plain awkward.

Quinn swallowed.

Rachel's eyes were full of tears, one even fell on the ring box, dramatically.  
"Quinn, I'm so,_ so sorry_. I_ can't_ marry you..."

It was as though all the oxygen got sucked out of the room. Quinn felt like she was going to pass out. Tears forming in her own eyes, she said, "But..._why_, Rach?"

Rachel's lips quivered.

"Because.._.I'm not gay_, Quinn."

Quinn's face screwed up in to an incredulous look, and she opened her mouth to rebut that idiotic statement, when she saw the Diva... _laughing_ above her.

"Give me my ring, _Mrs. Berry_." Rachel said, with a very spoiled tone.

"You haven't said yes,_ Mrs. Fabray_."

Rachel lunged forward, tackling the girl, who was already off balance on one knee. Topping her, and looking down into her hazel eyes, she said, "Yes. A thousand times, yes, Quinn Fabray. I love you, and I would _love_ to marry you." She leaned down, kissing Quinn passionately.

"Okay, peeps!," Chirped out Santana, "That's enough to make my eyes bleed. Everyone, back to Monopoly!"

"Move your big melon head, Mama! You're blocking the camera!" Bea huffed.

"That is going to be one_ interesting_ marriage..."Mused Papa Muccino, exiting with his arm around Santana.

"Those two? Naaa. They're not that interesting. Really."

However, the two uninteresting women would dawdle behind, just a bit longer, in absolute wonderment; both amazed that they_ had finally _arrived at their destination.

**XOXOXOXOX**

"Mmmmmmghf."Rachel murmured, her lips attached to Quinn's opening, flicking her tongue inside, roughly against her sore walls.

"Oh, _fuck!_" Quinn said, as she pulled her mouth off of Rachel's respective opening to offer that superlative in appreciation. Just as quickly, she dove back in, gripping Rachel's thighs, and resuming her grasp on the woman. Quinn placed her mouth back on Rachel, then forked her tongue, so she could lap up Rachel's juices, then traversed her midline until she felt the hard bead of Rachel's clit quivering underneath, firm. With a fervor, Quinn pressed her encircled her lips, completely around the little swollen bead, and began to suck, **_hard._**

Now Rachel had to throw her head back, and curse.

"God damn, Quinn, you feel so good, _sucking me_..."

_"You_ taste," Quinn said, swiping her tongue directly into Rachel's hole, "_so good_," swiping again, "_especially after,_" she probed hard, with her tongue, into Rachel's hole, _"after we've been fucking all night_..." She rimmed Rachel's entrance with her tongue, to get maximum taste, licking her up, getting her taste into her mouth, wanting more...never getting enough of that taste...it was addicting. She wanted Rachel's juices in her mouth, like, _all the time._ She lathed her tongue, over and over...Rachel was writhing underneath her, practically dripping ejaculation right this second, and Quinn was getting ready to go for the kill, when...

**_"Aaaaooouch!_**" Quinn cried out. Rachel had **bit** her clit, hard, and now, was sucking it. The pain soon dissolved into pleasure, as jolts of electricity were shooting everywhere- shooting directly to her nipple tips, straight to her center between her legs at her pussy, down her thighs...and Quinn couldn't help a moan of pleasure from escaping her throat. "Ohhhh, so gooood, Rachel. So fucking_ goooood_..." _Oh my god,_ she thought. _ Is she gnawing on my clit?_

This is not how the night had started, actually. It was quite sweet, their first night together as "betrothed." They laid in bed together, reading the paper; then, they did the crossword together...topless. Then, all hell broke loose when Rachel said, giggling, "Let's read some of that Glee smut, or something fun!"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "That is amaturish crap, Rachel." In her haughtest voice, she said, "don't you know I"m a serious author of literature? Does the Pulitzer award for literature ring a bell."

"Good thing you were only nominated, then!" She said, as she dove in to Quinn's midsection, tickling her.

"Quit! I'm going to barf!" Quinn said, snorting.

She continued to tickle, but then, Rachel's eyes got distinctly non-PG13. In one swift move, she went from tickling to yanking Quinn's _barely there_ "Red KT Lover's Designer Thong" right off of her body. Mounting the blonde, Rachel looked at her with a devilish glint. "Just _one_, Quinnie?"

"Fine, soon to be wife, Rachel."

Rachel pulled up a bookmarked page, to which Quinn said, "should I be disturbed you pulled that up so quickly?"

"Just listen, smart-ass." Rachel started reading aloud.

Quinn was shocked actually, how fucking funny it was...in the right places. As she snorted, laughing, she said, "Okay, maybe this doesn't totally suck ass."

Waggling her eyebrows meaningfully, Rachel said, "Just wait until the next chapter, ma bien-aimée betrothed!

The next chapter was full of smut...and they didn't get through two paragraphs. Which is how they found themselves..._.here. Here, _as in, Rachel was gnawing on Quinn's clit, with successively harder nips, that were causing Quinn to buck. Just as she thought she couldn't handle any more, but wanting it..she felt Rachel shift, and then felt her fingers, jaggedly sawing into her opening. Rachel had had to force herself to change tempo, after all, because she was afraid she would draw blood from Quinn's inguinal area. It was just that good...so heady... to smell Quinn's musk, tasting her, and to bite into her.

Quinn's entrance was already battered and raw from earlier in the evening, when Rachel had ridden her roughly with a thick dildo. While Quinn came with her first orgasm of the evening, Rachel had wedged a lubricated vibrating anal plug, deep, into her ass while Quinn was continuing to ride that first orgasm out like an addict. She had thought abstractly that she should protest about the invasion, but the three quick , intense, and successive organsms that resulted from the plug entering roughly into her ass, was sort of a conversation ender. That, and the bruising pace of Rachel's dildo thrusts as she tried to penetrate Quinn deeper than ever before. For a time that evening, the only sounds were the hum of the plug and the thick slurps of the dildo sliding in and out of Quinn's hole, as Rachel rocked her pelvis hard. Rachel maintained that crazy tempo for awhile, as she drove into Quinn, establishing dominance over Quinn, and Quinn relented to her need.

They were still in their 69 positions, but Quinn could do nothing but moan in pleasure..._.total, complete pleasure, _while she bounced like a rag doll underneath RAchel, as Rachel topped her, hard. Any feelings of soreness Quinn might have felt from being fucked raw were gone, as soon as she felt RAchel go deep, and hit _that_ spot. Rachel waggled her fingers, scraping, dragging them across the rough spot. She pulled back, then jammed back into her, with the same motion. It was causing Quinn's body to spasm. "Ugh! **Harder,** Rae..._there! _ Stick it ... yes, fuck me...own me! **Do it!**"

Rachel huffed in frustration, the angle awkward for her arms. She slid out, and flipped Quinn onto her back. She immediately mounted her, so she could press her core against Quinn's, and feel them touch while she looked down on her...

Growling, she said, "I just want to f**_uck you_**, Quinn Fabray. I want you on your back, so I can _fuck the shit outta you_, right now."

Quinn was sore, she was tired, but she wanted to be fucked by Rachel Berry.

Hard.

"Okay." She assented, weakly. Quinn gave in to the rush of pleasure, as she felt Rachel's mouth, hands, body, seemed to move everywhere...on her, and i**n her,** all at registered that Rachel was biting her; Rachel was thrusting in her; Rachel was touching her; Rachel was _everywhere_, it seemed. She felt her, in every cell of her body. Rachel was sweating, and her eyes were wild. Panting slightly, Rachel growled into her right ear, "I want you to _fucking come for me_, Quinn Fabray, while my hand fucks your pussy, understand? I want you to savor it. _Milk it, Quinn._ Take it, as long as you can _stand it_..." And then, as if on command, Quinn's walls clenched and tightened, undulating tightly around Rachel's fingers, and she came. Quinn gasped, at the length, the duration, the sheer intensity, of the sensations wracking her body, making her spasm, violently, underneath Rachel.

"Ohhhh..._fuckkkk. _ Yeahhh..." Quinn moaned, incoherently. Her pelvis bucked, wildly. "Oh, **fuck** me... Yes, Rachel, so good. Just fuck me._ Fuck me. _ Damn it Rachel, **Fuck me**! Uhhhhh...yes..." Rachel kept driving, in and out of Quinn, hooking and pulling at her, until she was sure she had milked every last drop out of her fiancee. Then she ground down a little more, until Quinn went limp.

Rachel flipped Quinn over, on her side, and pulled Quinn's head via her neck, placing it to rest on top of her chest, so Quinn could hear Rachel's heart beat while she passed out, and nuzzle between her breasts. Gripping her Quinn's ass with her left hand, her right arm slung underneath her, she pulled Quinn even closer.

"Go to sleep, now, Quinn."

Heeding her advice, Quinn's head slumped down on Rachel's chest, and her breathing evened out. She was passed out, dead asleep.

_I fucked my soon to be wife **so hard** she had to stop and pass out. _My wife._ Quinn Fabray. My Quinn Fabray... the person I have wanted my entire adult life, it seems. I want her even more now that I've had her. Not less. _

_Wow. _Rachel mused. _The more I have her, the more I want her; the more I need** her** to have me...if that's even possible. And now she's going to marry me. My wife, **Quinn Fabray.** Huh._

As she started to doze of herself, she thought,

_I like it._

TBC


	25. Santana's Soliloquy

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

Rating: No holds barred. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, US News and World Report, the Nobel committee, or motherhood in general. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N:**

**CHAPTER NEXT: Santana's Soliloquy **

The front door of the Fabray-Berry household slammed open.

Storming through the door was the next Judge Elect of the New York Supreme Court, the Hon. Santana Lopez, following behind her, close in tow, her mini-me, Beatrice Lopez.

"_Where is he?_" Hollered Santana.

Rachel walked downstairs. "Santana, can you _lower your voice?_ Freddie's trying to sleep!"

Her comment was met by a string of Spanish curse words as the Latina pushed past the smaller woman.

"Mama, you shouldn't shove people!" Bea announced.

"Hey! Beatrice! Talk to that nice lady on the stairwell who sings while I find Freddie." She gestured towards Rachel as she stormed up the stairs.

Arriving upstairs, she pushed open his bedroom door, her face went white as a sheet. His face bandaged, Quinn was patiently laboring over him, emptying his JP drains from the tubing running from his face. Bloody gauze was everywhere.

"Hi, Auntie San!" He said, muffled through the bandages.

"Freddie, don't talk! I told you!" Quinn admonished. Casting a dirty look toward her second, she said, "And hello, Santana. What part of "_Freddie's resting'_ did you not get on your voicemail?"

"I'm glad she's here!"The muffled voice said

"I said, _be quiet_, Freddie!"

"Good luck with that, Auntie Q." The mini-me chirped, entering through the door. Freddie said "ow!" as he smiled, seeing Bea, and then he raised his hand towards here, and he and Bea did their weird "hand jive" they developed over the course of time, in salutation.

Santana yanked Bea upright. "Don't jar him! The stitches!" Quinn shook her head, watching Santana's brand of crazy, and continued to drain her son's wounds.

"Q! Are you sure you know what you're doing? Shouldn't we get a nurse to do that? Or at least, Beth? I mean, she's at least, medical!" Santana said, with pressured speech.

Freddie could tell his Mom was counting to ten.

"San, honey, we appreciate your concern. However, unbridled panic won't help. He's over the hump. He had surgery. He's fine. I am perfectly capable of emptying the JP drains...the nurse taught me, and frankly, this is no different than the post-op I had for my nose job."

"You had a nose job?" Bea and Freddie said in unison.

"Stop talking, Freddie. They'll have a spaz." Bea said, motioning towards the adults. "Don't worry, I'll talk** for** you."

Rachel said, laughing as she entered the room. "_And so it begins_…" Freddie gave her the pinkie-his one act of rebellion since giving her the finger would result in no Wii for the month-and she laughed again. However, she sobered up to add, "Santana, why don't the three adults retire…to the study. To chat."

"I don't _need_ to chat."

"It wasn't a request." Rachel said, firmly.

"_Uh-oh._ Better go, Mama. I'll wait here, with the Fredster." Bea said, looking at Freddie.

With one last concerned look back at the boy, Santana headed to the study across the hall. After the door clicked, Freddie motioned hand signals to Bea, to open the air vent. They had mastered the fine art of spying on their parents together, after all.

"Okay, be quiet once you open it, Bea."

_"Stop talking_, Fredrick!"

She opened the vent to listen. Bea winced at the flurry of Spanish expletives showering out of her Mama's mouth. She shrugged and crawling over to Freddie, whispered, "No real content, yet."

She went back to her post. After a few moments of eavesdropping, a strange look came over Bea's face. She came over to Freddie. "Mama's saying you got beat up…by some boys at your school."

The painful look on his eyes registered the truth.

Bea went back. She returned after a bit. "Auntie Quinn says you're going to have to learn how to fight your own battles_, yada yada yada,_ and Mama says how can he when you pussyfy him, whatever that is; Aunt R says, it builds character."

Bea went back, then returned. "Mama's…_.crying,_ Freddie. She said, um, bullying isn't like it used to be – its not just Slushies any more. She says theyre guns, and knives, and cyberbullying, and depressed skull fractures and stuff, and she's just crying a lot right now. She wants Aunt Q and R to get you out of that school."

He gave a silent thumbs up to that.

She went back to listen, but almost immediately returned back to Freddie. She had tears in her eyes. "I don't want to listen anymore, 'kay, Fred?"

She leaned down and rested her head on her friend's chest, and hugged him. Freddie put his hand on Bea's head, patting her. She lifted her head up to look at him. On the brink of tears herself, she looked up to the bandaged boy above her, and said, "Mama said,_ 'Bea and Freddy are the only two things I have in this world that matter. If I lose them, I've lost everything.'_ Mama's ...she...she's really, really sad, F."

He nodded, and pushed her off his chest, gently. Freddie swung his legs over the bed, and stood up. Bea went to support him, as he threw his arm around her shoulders. "Um, are you supposed to be doing this, Freddie?" Bea said, nervously. He shrugged his shoulders and motioned toward the door. Ambling through, they headed towards the study. Bea pushed open the door for him.

Quinn's head swiveled around and she went sheet white.

"**Fredrick Alexander Fabray! **_What_ on EARTH _do you think you're doing_?" Quinn said, standing, in disbelief.

Rachel was speechless.

Freddie, nodding acknowledgement towards his mom that he knew he was in deep shit later, walked over and plopped down to sit by his Aunt San. She looked worse than him! San looked utterly devistated... her eyes were red rimmed, and glassy. Her nose was running.

So Freddie did the first thing that came to his mind. From the pocket of his bathrobe, he pulled out_…a deck of cards._

UNO.

Slowly, with great care to not disrupt his bandages or drains, he dealt seven cards to Santana and himself.

"You figured out how to eavesdrop, didn't you, kid?" Santana whispered lowly, so only Freddie could hear.

Freddie nodded.

Louder, for the benefit of the room, Santana said, "Don't think you're going to get off because you can't SAY the word UNO, punk," as she laid down a Red +2 on the pile. Whispering so only he could hear, she continued, "Freddie, I love you. You're my only son…sort of son, I mean. I can't lose you. I worry. Its what I do."

He nodded, as he placed his next card down.

With each turn, Santana visibly calmed. "UNO!" She squealed. She even did a extensive victory dance when she won. Rachel and Santana then moved him back to his bed - Quinn was too livid to lay her hands on her child - and they left Santana and Bea to visit with him privately for a while.

As they walked down their spiral staircase towards the kitchen, Rachel and Quinn exchanged a look. Rachel nodded at Quinn.

"It's time, Quinn."

Quinn sighed. "It would appear so."

XOXOXOXO

Santana stumbled through the front door of the Muccino's home, exhausted.

Yes, Santana had her own place, a penthouse...but... after Rachel had fed Santana-literally fed her- the night of Rachel's request to help Quinn ditch her contract, she relayed her concern to Mr. Muccino, who was equally horrified. Amid protests, they moved Santana in with the Muccinos, where she stayed until she cracked the cartel like a cheap nut. When her wife and child returned, the three of them sort of remained there...and had essentially moved in with Mr. and Mrs. Muccinos. Truthfully, it kind of made Santana feel like she was home. Big house, loud people, good food, extended family...and it was good, and inviting, and overflowing with love...and she wanted Bea to have that experience.

And then, it became just the two of them.

Moving out, after that, seemed unthinkable after the passing of J; Santana didn't have the oomph to consider something as gargantuian as a move.

It would mean she was moving on.

But, she still kept the penthouse downtown, because...fuck, it was a _penthouse downtown_, a'rite? Additionally, the Muccino's were incredible enablers. To say they doted on Bea was an understatement. Having no children or grandchildren of their own, a real travesty in an Italian family, they took on Santana and Bea as their own. _("Sometimes they squint and pretend we're Italian,"_ Santana would joke). Truth be known, it was a totally symbiotic situation. Eventually Bea called them Noni and Papa, and after all, they were actually the only grandparent figures she had in her life. Most people assumed that she was their grandchild - she looked like them and she certainly acted Italian. It was remarkable how well they all fit together. Throw in Freddie, who Santana essentially claimed as her own, coupled with his parents Rachel and Quinn, and you had your New American Family.

It was preparing for their weekly Sunday meal with Quinn, Rachel, Fred, and Rachel's dad who was in town, that Mr. Muccino, much to his complete and utter delight, discovered that among Bea's many talents, one of her greatest was her chutzpah in the kitchen. The little girl could_ cook. _Papa Muccino loved his little princess...and the fact she had a knack in the kitchen endeared her even more. For her elementary science project one year, she developed a cold water filtration system with charcoal resins and other bits of filters to perfect the water...because, she explained, that was the key to making Italian dough. And she was right. When she won first place that year, with the Muccinos emptying an entire memory card on the day, cheering loudest over every set of parents, Santana said to Rachel, "fuck. We're never moving out, are we?" Rachel concurred, expressing her sentiment that the the likelihood ranged from slim to _notachanceinhell._

San was grateful for the bonus set of grandparents, actually. As a result, after dinner, homework, yatzee, and then bedtime, she would turn around, and head back into work for some God awful period, and come home and die until she got up four to five hours later and went right back in. The Muccinos would take turns waiting up for her, primarily to make sure she ate. Plus they loved to pounce on her...

"She is so smart, Santana..."Noni Muccino would say, to the exhausted attorney.

"I'm aware of that. Too smart for her own good."

"Where did she get those smarts, San?"

"I'd like to think _from her mother_. I'm not exactly a dummy."

"No, you're smart, no doubt...but she's _really_ smart...way beyond that, even."

Santana narrowed her eyes. "If this is a thinly veiled attempt to try to get the paternity out of me, yet again, the answer is NO. No one will know before Bea, and that's final. And for the billionth time, no, he's not Italian."

"Are you sure?"

"Argh!" Santana would throw her arms up, exasperated. Noni would hug her, drag her into the kitchen, and force food down her exhausted body.

Their other routine would be Papa Muccino yelling at her to take better care of herself, and to not work so much.

One night, he admonished, "Italians work to live, Santana, they do not live to work."

"Again, I am not Italian."

"Yes, you are, dear."

"No! I'm not! Lopez. LOPEZ."

"Meh. You're killing yourself. I don't like it."

"Criminals aren't going to suddenly start turning themselves in, and everyone else is a pussy besides me.

"How are you going to find the next Mrs. Lopez, then?"

"There won't be a next Mrs. Lopez. Or if they're is, likely she'll be a criminal."

"Mengle! Let's not argue about this, okay?" He offered her dinner, which she snapped up.

"I heard Bea speaking Italian yesterday, by the way." Santana said, with a breadstick hanging from her mouth.

He beamed. "That girl...she is so smart. Really smart. She just picks it up."

"So I've heard."

He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Santana...I think she might be the first woman president, someday."

"God, I hope not!"

"Me, too." He exhaled.

"You, too? Hmmm. Me, I don't want her to, because I no longer trust the government after being a part of it for so long. But, you...you're Mr. Coming To America himself, Mr. Red White and Blue! So...why? _ Why_ don't you want her to be the first woman president?" Santana cocked her head.

"Because... I want to give her the restaurant someday."

XOXOXOXOXO

It started as a night similar to any others. Santana was loaded with work, but Mr. Muccino called her and told her to come home immediately. So, she did. She walked into the dark kitchen straight away, finding a bottle of red wine. Frankly, she was glad to leave early - she hated nights like this, where she once again, proved the hallowed traditions she respected, were tainted; she had discovered a probate judge was taking bribes from a plaintiff. _Its bullshit to not have term limits,_ she thought, as she sunk into a chair in the kitchen nook, uncorking the wine.

"Santana." Papa Muccino said, grimly.

"Yes?" She said, tiredly. She took a swig directly from the bottle.

"I know its getting late. Santana, um. You are always welcome here, but..."

Santana's spidey senses were tingling. "But,_ what?_"

"Santana, you have your **own** house to go home to."

"What?" She said incredulously. "You're kicking me out? Kicking...us...out?"

"Yup." He said, matter of factly.

Santana's face cycled through a million shades of betrayal. He chuckled. "Lighten up, my little gnocchi," He said with a twinkle. Raising his hand to hers, he dropped a set of keys in her hand. "It's a good thing your house is just next door, since you don't look so good."

Still speechless, he picked up the wine bottle, and took her hand. He walked the stunned woman, literally, to the house next door.

"Try the keys." He said, gently.

Hands shaking, she fumbled with the lock, but eventually turned the key. "It appears to work."

"It does, indeed."

Santana pushed open the door.

"SURPRISE!" A million voices called out. All of the knights of the round table were in Santana's new festive living room, and corks were popping. As if on cue, Puck started the sound system, with the deeply poetic musings of Mr. Tone Loc performing "_Funky Cold Medina" _to Quinn AND Noni Muccino's disgust. He grinned and turned it up, and it blared through the house.

"What-?" The startled Latina gargled, looking around, shell shocked.

Bea and Freddie left the other kids, when they saw her finally walk in, and they sprinted over to the speechless woman.

"Mama! _Isn't it great?_ This is our house, now!"

"Don't you love it, Auntie San?"

Santana looked around in wonderment. Rachel and Quinn walked over to their friend, hand in hand, smiling. "But how...?"

Quinn said, "You aren't the only persuasive one around here, Lopez."

"But...but...this house wasn't even for sale!" She said, stunned.

Rachel looked at Papa Muccino knowingly and smiled. Taking Santana's arm in hers, she said, "Counselor, let's just say...we made them an offer they couldn't refuse." She smiled broadly at her stunned friend. Arm in arm, she tugged her friend, gently, urging her forward. "Come with me, San."

Santana was speechless.

Quinn and Rachel agreed it should be Rachel to do the tour. Santana was never overly defensive around her, like she still was occasionally with Quinn. Plus, Rachel had been the driving force behind this, anyway. Touring her around the magnificent, yet homey, surroundings, Rachel recounted all of the features of the residence with such a detailed authority, Santana thought Rachel might have actually missed her_ true_ calling as a New York broker. "Do you like it, San?"

Dumbfounded, Santana nodded.

Rachel gave her million dollar smile. "Wow! It's not every day I make the formidable Santana Lopez, Esquire, from Lima Heights Adjacent, speechless!" She giggled. As they arrived upstairs to the closed doors that led into what Santana mused was the master bedroom, Rachel continued speaking. "That's impressive, considering I haven't even told you the _best feature_, yet, of this residence!"

Looking meaningfully at Santana, with a devilish glint in her eye, she opened the French doors, and ushered the two of them into the room. It was huge! It was gorgeous, and very tastefully done. It felt right, sort of. But...the hairs on Santana's neck were sticking up, and her spidey senses were _still_ pinging...

"The best part, Mamí, is that this residence comes complete... with your_ very own, live-in, blonde!_"

On cue, the door to the connecting master bath opened. Peeking her head out, Brittany said with a broad smile, "_Hi, Sanny_! I ran us a bath. Come on in, while its still hot!"

Santana turned to look at Rachel, tears welling in her eyes. Not knowing what to do with all of these feelings of actual happiness spilling out of her at long last, she floundered about, finally grabbing Rachel suddenly, squeezing her for all she was worth. Rachel made some small gurgling noises, but tried to smile gamely anyway. Finally, Santana relented. She kissed her on the cheek, and whispered while she gripped her tightly, "_You're the best little munchkin_ in all of Munchkinville, Rachel Barbara Berry, and _I love you!_"

Finally releasing the asphyxiating diva from her near-choke hold, she winked and turned around. Calling over her left shoulder, she said, "Now if you'll _excuse me_, Berry, I _gots to get my **bath** on_." Santana sauntered towards the master bath, stripping her clothes off, with a grin.

_And that is how Santana Lopez got her swagger back,_ Rachel thought to herself, as she headed downstairs to rejoin the party. _God Help New York; God Help Us All..._

All it took was a little money, a few calls to friends, some covert city permit magic with P&S signings, peppered with true friends, one Unicorn, a bit of neighborly intimidation, a moving van, a final heaping of luck and timing, naps, snacks, and a **whole lot** of Rachel Berry.

TBC.


	26. Chapter 26

**CHAPTER NEXT: Celebrating Excellence In Theatre.**

"Hello, welcome to the American Theatre Wing's Presentation of the Tony Awards, Broadway's Biggest Night in Theatre! I'm Neil Patrick Harris, and I'm proud to say, with tonights simulcast to Times Square, podcast, and good ol' fashioned Broadcast, its an honor to be here. When I was asked to host tonight, they asked specifically, was I ready to host a sixth time, breaking Angela Langsbury's previously held record…."

He waited a moment for the spontaneous applause to die down.

"I had to clarify that they said Angela Langsbury, and NOT _Rachel Barbara Berry_…."

Laughter erupted throughout Radio City Music Hall.

"Cause, hell, I think we can all agree, that's a record none of us want!"

Rachel looked at Quinn, who squeezed her, tight, and smiled. "Look at me, Rach, just look at me."

"It's hard to look at anything else, Quinn. You look so beautiful tonight."

"Awww."

She grimaced. "Did I mention, Neil hates me?"

"No one hates you, honey."

"Um, he does."

"Why is that? "

"Well…he might have tried to push himself sexually on Kurt at a party. It really upset him, I mean, he put his hand down Kurt's pants and gropped him! Then he threatened him when he said no. And guess what...Neil was married, at the time!"

"Okay….so why does he hate you because he sexually assaulted Kurt?"

"Um, because I blackmailed him with the photo I took on my iphone?"

"that would do it. What did you extort him for?"

"To stop bugging Kurt! He was making his life hell!"

Quinn kissed her temple. "My little superhero."

"Berry!" The host called. "I see you canoolding down there with your wife! For those of you who have been under a rock, and are deaf and blind, or still have an Android… her wife is the lovely and talented, Quinn Fabray, nominated two times this evening!

Applause. Quinn waived meekly in acknowledgement.

Rachel wished his attention away…no such luck. "You two are so damn cute! What do you go by, Quinn? Princess? Mrs. Berry? I have a suggestion, how about … Mrs. _"I'm this years' person Rachel brought to the Tonys who won and all she got was this lousy T-shirt" _– how's that for a name? There were a few uncomfortable titters, but the jokes were falling flat.

Kurt shot him a dirty look. Puck flipped him off.

"Sir, you're not supposed to finger the host." Neil said to Puck, repremandingly

Mild Laughter.

"It's fucking live theatre, you ass! Now, shut up about Rachel!" He yelled back.

More laughter. The people who could actually hear Puck, started clapping.

"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel…." He mused. "You know, only one person, Julie Harris, has been nominated more times than you…"

"Is his whole fucking monologue about you, Rachel?" Artie leaned over.

"It would appear so." Rachel said, glumly.

"Of course, she actually won six of those ten times…whoops!"

"Well, at least it can't get worse, honey" Shelby said, leaning forward, rubbing her shoulder.

It could, and it did.

He revived the dancing Itos, from the OJ simpson era, except they were the Dancing Tony's that Rachel never got. As he crooned, something unexpected happened.

The Changs, Mike and Tina, stood up, and started Boo-ing loudly. The Asian Fast Track Twins, who never did anything wrong, were being….subversive! On national television!

Next was Puck and Kurt, both grinning and high fiving the Changs.

Standing on their chairs, a wee bit drunk, Brittany and Santana yelled out hearty Boo's…Followed by Artie, who was pushed up to the stage by Quinn, and they were both booing. Quinn reached into her purse to throw something at him, unfortunately, it was just a box of mints and tampon case., which he ducked

Mercedes stood up, pulling Lea Michele up with her. She looked around the theatre. "C'mon, y'all! This is bullshit!"

Anna Kendrick, smiling, stood up. "_Boooo!_" Rachel looked down the aisle at her, shocked- She and Anna were in direct competition for Best Actress in a Musical. Noticing Rachel staring at her, she shrugged, and smiled at Rachel. "You were totally awesome, Rachel, and he's a fucking ass! "

Puck looked up at Shelby, and she stood up with a grimace.

"I'm not going to boo, Puck. Its disrespectful to Antoinette Perry."

"Who?"

Shelby rolled her eyes. "I'm proud of you though, babe. You can boo. I'll stand in silent protest."

He kissed her.

"Me, too." Said Rosario Dawson, rising in silent protest, next to Shelby.

"I'm not going to kiss you though." Puck said.

"Oh, darn." Rosario said, rolling her eyes. She caught Lea's, and gave her a wink.

Anna Camp, who had taken over the role of Baby Q when Beth left, was leading a drunken congo line that was intermittently yelling, "Leave Rachel alone!" and "You fucking Suck!" as it seemed to continuously stop at the bar en route.

A good ¼ of the theatre had broken out in pandemonium, and Neil looked around, helpless. At the station break, he marched over to her, and in a fit of rage, with the mantra, _this-was-all-Rachel-Berry's-fault_ running in a loop in his head, he marched to the end of the stage, looking at her. He said, "you're going to lose again, you….loser!"_ And he threw his drink on her._

He actually threw his drink on her! The cold sent a shock down Rachels' spine, and she was immediately transported back to the second floor girls locker room at McKinley High, where she was the social pariah again. With the loud mouth and the big dreams. Who just had a slushee thrown on her…

_Don't cry Rachel, Don't Cry…Don't Cry! _She willed herself. She then thought,_ Why did I ever wear a white dress? Stupid, stupid Rachel! _She clenched her eyes, shut.

While squeezing her eyes in into the frozen shut mode, she heard a _smack!_ followed by a thud. She opened her eyes,

She couldn't believe what she saw.

Quinn was standing above him, red in the face. She apparently had clocked him! Quinn then put the base of her Stuart Weitzman's heel and dug it into his chest.

"Don't you _ever_ come near my wife again, do you hear me? Ever!" She screamed.

And then she kicked his nose with her foot for emphasis. Remembering where she was, she looked up at the cameras. "Um, kids, this is a good time to mention that violence is not the answer…" The crowd exploded with laughter and applause, as Quinn slunk off the stage. "This is worse than prom…" she groaned.

"Perhaps, but its far more entertaining!"

Everyone looked around while the producers cut to a commercial break. Neil Patrick Harris stormed off, with one final glare at Rachel.

When they returned, there was the dreaded dead space. No one was doing anything. Apparantely there was no "Plan B" for a host….

One more excruciating minute, and then, storming up to the stage, was…_.The Honorable (elect) Santana Lopez, Esquire!_

"What the hell is she doing?" Hissed Shelby.

"Hosting!" Brit said, proudly.

_**"Yo**_. My name is Santana Lopez. I've never been nominated for a Tony, I haven't seen any shows this year, excpt for "Shell Collector," because I had a free ticket..."

"You're a producer of "Shell Collector," San!"

"I am? Oh shit. Well there you have it." The crowd was roaring with laughter in the right places. "Shit! I wouldn't know half of youse from adam if you crashed my car on the highway.I'm as likely to think you appeared on the back of a milk carton as I am broadly milk can, f I'm not a Broadway actress, I lived with Berry and Kurt Hummel and they made me hate Broadway musicals as a result."

The crowd was openly laughing now.

"So after watching this clusterfuckery, right along with you good folks at home..."

"Five second broadcast delay!" indicated the director to the camera manger, furiously.

"Depite the fact I bust drug cartels up for a living, and prosecute crimes against New York, and have no historical background in this theatre I have decided that I am obviously the most logical person to host this hot mess, and I have self-appointed yours truly."

As the night wore on, the inprompu host for the evening said, "shit , let's just get on the the good stuff, and not the other crap. The Award for Best Actress in a Musical...

Then Rachel blanked out, until the presenters read...

"Anna Kendrick, in "The Road Less Traveled." Well shit, Berry! Damn. Nine and out...Sorry. While Ms. Kentrick makes her winning stroll up to the podium, the producers have just informed me its the time to practice this month's fire drill..."

Donning a yellow construction helmet, she chirped, "In 5...4...3...2... now!" The most horriflc blast went through the stage , _Rarrrgh!... Rarrrgh!... Rarrrgh!_

_"Rach! W_ake up, your alarm is going off again, and you woke me up!" An annoyed Quinn said.

"Oh, sorry, hon...I had a nightmare, again.

Quinn attempted to send a consoling arm over Rachel's back, but in her sleep deprived state, she whacked her, instead, in the head.

"Ow!"

"Sorry" said Quinn's muffled voice, as she rolled over, barely coherent.

"But listen, remind me to call Kurt in the morning."

'Kurt?" Quinn's sleepy voice asked, confused.

"Yes, Kurt. I want to tell him _**no white,**_ under any circumstances. And if we find out Neil Patrick Harris is hosting this year, I'm not going."

_"_Wait,_ what?"_

_TBC_


	27. Chapter 27

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

**Pairing(s):** Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

**Rating**: No holds barred. M/NC-17 ratings.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, NYU, Tiffany's, or motherhood in general. I don't own any of the real actors of Glee either (that would be kind of creepy if I did). I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required.

**Summary**: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N:** Thank you everyone. A long awaited resolution.

**Chapter: The Museum Tour**

"_Uuuughhhh..._ Quinn? Are you_ trying_ to kill me?"

Quinn looked up, briefly, from between Rachel's legs. She did her patented one eyebrow arch. "Tell me you're_ not_ complaining."

Rachel gazed at the intense woman planted between her legs, who currently was wearing a heavy glaze of accumulated...fluids, across her chin and lips. The lips that were beet red and swollen. The lips that were being licked by their owner, in a deliberate and self-indulgent manner, to taste, again, the specific ambrosia of the creator of said fluids...

"MMmmm...I love your taste. Now, I say again, tell me you're not complaining."

"What? I'm sorry, I was getting hypnotized by your lips...what did you say?"

"My lips? Well, speaking of my lips, they aren't done."

They tumbled to the right, as the limo made a sharp turn and honked. Even through the sound proof glass, they could hear their driver swear.

"I hope he hasn't been listening to you swear, all afternoon, Rachel..."

Blushing with realization, Rachel blurted out a mortified, "Oh my God!"

"A little bit too late for regrets, Berry..." Quinn said, as she repositioned herself between Rachel's legs, deliberately. As her head began its trajectory down towards Rachel's musk, it was quickly yanked back up by a firm tug on her hair.

"Ouch!"

"Oops. Sorry. That was a little..._rougher..._than I meant."

Hooking her left leg on Quinn's right knee, Rachel kicked Quinn over, until her back was flat against the leather seat. Rachel flipped herself over and scrambled on top of the startled blonde, mounting her.

"I wasn't done!" Quinn said, in protest.

"Lady! You've been servicing me for_ three hours straight_. I'm good. It's time to let me," she paused to kiss Quinn's swollen lips for dramatic effect, "fuck you,_ now_."

"No. I don't want -"

She paused, as Rachel's fingertips found their way between Quinn's legs, discovering evidence to the contrary... vis-a-vis Quinn's dripping fluids that had pooled, and were now running down her leg.

"Shit, Quinn!"

"God, now you're embarrassing me!"

"_So fucking wet..._"

"Rachel!"

Rachel rubbed her fingers through Quinn's wetness, then, clenching her petite fingers, she ran her knuckles down Quinn's clit, following the path towards the pooled liquid that collected at Quinn's entrance. Rachel rubbed the back of her hand through the liquid, in a deliberate back and forth motion, painting her entire hand in the wetness.

In a predatory fashion, Rachel leaned down to Quinn's right ear, and uttered, "For _what?_ For getting turned on by licking my pussy all afternoon? For making me come so hard I screamed in the back of this limo and made your scalp and back bleed from gripping you? For sucking me and penetrating me over and over with that amazing mouth and tongue of yours? No,_ don't_ be... I love this wetness, evidence that Quinn Fabray is human! Evidence that Quinn Fabray gets so turned on she turns into a dripping, hot mess. I mean..look at_ all this_..."

She rubbed her hand in sloppy motions against Quinn's pussy for effect.

"...natural lubrication, Quinn."

Quinn's breath was coming in quick, staccato-like beats, and her heart rate was rising. She gripped the back of Rachel's hair; writhing. Just the rough brush of Rachel's hand was enough to almost make her orgasm, she was_ that_ aroused.

"Well," Quinn said, "I've had my face between your legs for the better part of the .._.ohhhh, God." _Rachel had been swiping hard against her clit again. "...afternoon, dear. What did you expect? I love your body. I love your response, to me, when I pleasure...you. _Ohmygod, that feels so good,_ Rachel."

Quinn let out a moan, as she felt Rachel grinding against her opening, but then she stopped. She wasn't ...penetrating her?

"Why did you stop, Rach?"

Rachel swiped her hand against the opening of her hole. She felt Rachel circle her entrance, toying with her.

"Rachel, please...we don't have much time left...until we get there..."Quinn whined.

"And who's fault is that?"

Circle, press. Circle, press...

"Please, I'm begging you. I'm goddamn begging you, Rach...oh! **Holy fuck**!"

Rachel had made a small, tight fist and slammed it into Quinn's opening...straight up. She was so wet, Rachel was able to slide into her orifice with almost minimal force, but she felt the vagina walls tighten at the intuition.

"Relax, Quinn, let me in."

Quinn spread her legs wider, and tried to relax.

"I've never done this before, Rachel. No one's ever done this, to me."

"I know," Rachel said, eyes darkening, "which is why I'm doing it to you now. Relax. _Let me fist you_, Quinn."

Quinn took a breath, and tried to relax her muscles, gripping Rachel's clenched hand, that was now gently rocking back, and forth, working the opening of her hole wider, sliding inches further...until-

"Oh my **fucking** God!" Quinn exclaimed, with a gasp. "Oh, fuck!"

"Mmmmm. Yes, God, yes, Quinn...you feel so tight..." Rocking her hand, back and forth, she corkscrewed out of her opening, only to reverse her motion, and press back in.

"Oh, fuck! _Fuck! Just like that, _Rae, oh, **fuck** yes!"

"Indeed." Very matter of factly, Rachel kept repeating the motion, harder, observing, almost clinically, the woman underneath her fall apart from being pleasured in such an extreme manner.

Quinn squirmed, and bucked, under the ministrations of Rachel's fist. To her credit, Q took it, and bravely rode out the tidal wave that would soon wash over her. As it hit her, over and over in waves, her vaginial walls quivered with the onslaught of the demanding fisting. She realized no one had ever filled her quite like this, no one had made her so wide, or so wet. Then again, no one had ever completed her before, quite like Rachel Berry did.

"Fuck, Quinn, I'm fisting you...after you fucked me all afternoon, and I bit you, and marked you...I made you bleed, you made me come so hard. Now, I'm fisting your pussy hole, and you're _taking_ it, without any lube_ other than your own_...fuck!"

Quinn's pelvis was rocking to counter the motions of Rachel's fist, as it twisted in and out of her. Quinn's muscles would let her in...and out...and in...and it felt so fucking good. Her nasty words, her actions...it was too much. Now, as the diva pounded into Quinn's now gaping hole, was unlike anything she felt before, to be so full. Quinn screamed, in the final moments of perhaps her best orgasm ever, not caring who heard...

The overwhelming feeling racking her body, from her core outwards, caused her to buck, and cry, and shake, violently. Afterwards, she cried, tears of pleasure or pain, she wasn't sure; however, she did know that these feelings were only staved and sated, both, by the arms of the little woman who inexplicably loved her.

The limo stopped.

Quinn sat up, and tried to collect herself, but her eyes couldn't seem to focus yet. Rachel chucked.

Attempting to be as nonchalant as she could, she said, "So...Rachel, we're here. This is a little surprise, for you."

"What? You mean you didn't just rent a limo to have sex in it all afternoon?" Said Rachel, sounding genuinely shocked.

"Er, no."

Trying to freshen herself up as quickly as possible, she frowned as she heard the door being opening by the driver.

"Ladies, this way, please." His face held a neutral expression.

As they stepped out, several flashes of lightbulbs went off. They were momentraily blinded, until they heard the beaconing call of their friend, Santana.

"Bitches! This way!"

Relived, they headed over. Brittany pulled Rachel closer and giggled and they started walking towards the building in front of them. Santana aligned with Quinn, walking lock step with her, following San hissed in a low voice, "Fabray! What to the actual fuck? You were only supposed to stall for a few minutes! Not fuck your woman all afternoon! The paps are on to us now, we lost the element of surprise!"

"I know," Quinn said, guiltily. "I got distracted."

"Distracted? _Uh-huh." _Santana willed herself to change topics, and not embarrass the blushing former HBIC any further...for the moment. "Well, everyone's here. It's all taken care of."

"Oh, good. That's a relief."

"The food is ready, we have security keeping people out of the back, and its set."

"Phew."

"Hey, Q-ball?"

"Yes?"

With a devilish glint in her eyes, Santana informed the blonde, "In addition to the dozen or so _hickeys_ all over you, I should point out, you're also actively _ bleeding_ in three spots as well. Might want to cover those up."

"Oh, shit!" She said, as they headed towards the entrance.

"And," continued Santana, "you're not _walking_ too well, either, Q. Jesus! What'd you two go do? Bull riding?"

"Something like that."

**XOXOX**

"_Ouch!_ Quit pushing!"

"How long have we been waiting in line? This goes all the way down the block!"

"I don't care, I want to see them!"

"Did you hear - I think they're inside! Not the statues..**.them**!"

"_Them,_ them? Woah..."

The buzz of the crowd, waiting in line was incredible. This was the best $5 tour money could buy, especially a mere two weeks after this opened. Nothing in New York was $5...not even, say, a gumball was $5 anymore. No, kids had to get a designer $100 Dylan's Candy Bar gumball set.

Until now.

Now, for a mere 500 pennies, anyone, any Joe off the Street, could brush up against the stuff New York was made of...what dreams were built on...and have an amazing cup of coffee and omelet also if you chose to be seated.

As the line wound down toward the front, the sign came clearly into view. Simple, classic, and untouched by its success. "Muccino's Italian Trattorea, est. 1972" in simple red and black against a white background, with the command, "Manga! Manga!" underneath.

The stickers of various accolades would next come into view...Phantom Gormet, Zagat's Rated, the newest two proudly on the front door: James Beard award winner for best cookbook,single subject: "Cooking for Kids: What I Learned From Papa Without Setting The House on Fire" by Bea Lopez with Papa Muccino (Ten Speed Press) and two time James Beard finalist for Best Chef, 5 burrows...Papa himself.

Then you made it to the vestibule, and you were hit with the sound of the loud, the buzz, and savory smells billowing out of the kitchen that were irresistible. The Holy Trinity, as Papa would say... garlic, onion, and celery; red sauces; and meatballs, regular and vegan. It was rumored he might win this year, finally, for his vegetarian menu. Really, he made the best vegan Italian food in all of the mid-Atlantic. Despite his gifts at finding tasty food alternatives, it was uncertain if he would accept the award, however, if meat wasn't on the table.

Then, when you made it to the lobby, after a minimum 40 minute wait to get to this point, you paid $5 for the tour, or opted to put your name on a seating list which would vary in time from 15 minutes to 2 hours, to eat. Today was a special buzz, because they were all there, eating brunch together.

Them.

_They._

The owners of the statues.

As you walked around on the the museum tour, the tiny little statues were mounted throughout the restaurant, glass encased, with a picture, and a bio, and a little detail about their part in the legendary production. What was most remarkable, and probably would never be seen again, was the novelty of the fact that all 16 of the little statues were on display in the museum. Every single person, to a T, had donated their statues to be displayed.

Even Rachel Berry.

That is where the inevitable largest crowd would gather, "You would have thought she would have put this under lock and key!"

"Naaa...I hear she's really nice. This is where she got her start, you know."

"She was discovered here."

"Really?"

A heavy set man, with salt and pepper hair and a white apron walked by, and interrupted. "That's not true. She discovered herself." Grinning, he walked off.

"Was that-"

"Holy shit!"

The tour would conclude with a pass by the table made famous by its inhabitants; The Motley Crue bound together by the invisible yet unbelievably strong thread of Rachel Berry; The modern-day Knights of the Roundtable. On most days, if unoccupied, people could pass by ...touch it... take the obligatory photos, butt ensconced on the red velvet seat made famous by a very unlikely crew of friends. However, no one was allowed to eat at it, other than its guardians.

However...today was not one of those days.

The tour participants were fasculating with excitement ... Today was rumored to be the dedication of sorts. Today, a silver plaque custom-engraved by Tiffany's and Company of New York City, was being mounted above the booth in a formal ceremony presided over by the full congregation of the famous Knights.

It was a very simple thing, really; considering it respresented the end of one the the most historic streaks in the history of the Great White Way, it was, well, very understated. Ironic, considering its subject matter. The tasteful, commemorative plaque read simply, the following:

**Here Sits Rachel Berry**

Tony award winner for Best Actress in a Musical Performance

_Short Stack, "The Shell Collector."_

Rachel's Famous Mottos Uttered At This Table:

"Enemies are just people you haven't yet strong-armed into becoming your friend...or in my case, your spouse."

"It is not your losses that define you; it is the promise of a win not yet obtained."

"There is no such thing as "No" or "We Can't" to those of any sense of creativity;

To me, the word "No" is for those unimaginative souls who have forgotten how to dream."

_Our Rachel sees only the possibilities of another chance._

We Love You - We Are Proud of You

_Your Knights of the Roundtable._


	28. The Celluloid Shell, Part I

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

Rating: No holds barred. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, The New York Times or its holdings, and I really really don't own the actual person who plays Rachel Berry, you know, Lea M_ch_! that one. All for non profit, and just good clean fun.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N: ** I admit, I added this after the fact. A reviewer suggested something that I just kept thinking about. Thanks for the suggestion, and begone, 4th Wall!

**CHAPTERNEXT: The Celluloid Shell**

Artie sipped his latte, slowly. Over the billowing mounds of foam, he peered out towards his coffee date, the petite and beautiful brunette, with soulful brown eyes.

Soulful brown eyes that were pleading with him, at the moment.

It was so deja vu, all over again.

"Do you know how much you remind me of Rachel Berry, in this very moment?"

She laughed, an easy laugh. "I get that a lot. However, since you actually know us both, enlighten me."

He laughed back. "Well, Rach has a very set routiene when she's trying to get me to do something. First, she comes at me with boundless enthusasiam, with the 'do I have a deal for YOU!' scthick. If I don't immediately concur, she goes into debate mode, and tries to argue me into it. Then, if I'm still unconvinced, she - depending on the circumstance - will go into _AngryCrazyRachel_ mode, or _PitifulRachel_ mode."

"And that is like me, how?"

"Well, you did step one, almost to the T. However, you bypassed debate mode, and thankfully crazy/angry mode, and now just went nuclear, and went straight for the big browns..."

"Is it working?"

He sighed. "I wish it was, Lea. But honest to God, it's...not going to happen."

"Why?"

"Have you seen the movie 'Rent'? No, you haven't. Neither did anyone else. Look, its true what they say...the camera adds 10 pounds. What they don't tell you is it adds 15 years..."

"What are you saying, Artie?"

"Don't you dare box me in, munchkin. I love all of you, I do. But I don't think anyone past thirty, which you are now, should be prancing around as a_ high school ingineue_. It's like the sonic sound barrier."

She had an odd smile.

"I agree, Artie. However, audiences _would_ buy me as a college student and the early Broadway years...they do every Thursday night at 9pm eastern standard time, after all."

"When you're not on hiatus, anyway..."He grumbled. "Hate that. Wait a minute._..Act II_? Are you planning on assissinating Rachel Berry?"

She laughed. "I think she's invunerable to death, actually." She leaned forward. "No, Rachel's herself...in Act III."

"What happens to Act I?"

"Nothing."

"Well, if you're Rachel Act II, and Rachel's Rachel Act III, who's Rachel Act I?"

"I haven't figured that out, but I know who Baby Q is."

"Enlighten Me."

"Emma Roberts, with contacts."

He paused. "Hmm. Could be. But you don't know if she's even interested."

"She's interested."

"You know this, how?"

"I asked her, when she guested last week." Lea said, matter of factly.

"I see. Who else have you cast?"

"Are you ready? Act II is...the comback of Beth Corcoran."

"Okay. Right after the Monkeys fly out of my ass. **Next**. Who is Quinn old?"

"Betty White."

"Interesting..."

She smacked him. "No, douf. Not Betty White, even if she would kick ass. No, _this is where I'm genus_: Old Quinn is played by the REAL old Quinn!"

"_What_?"

"Artie, I saw the tapes of your national victory - the memory lane one? Yes, Rachel is the star, no doubt. But my God, Quinn...she's magnetic. Think - just months prior to that performance, she was not even ambulatory! And then... wow! You can't take your eyes off of her!"

Artie's pride was still a bit sore from that whole era. "Yeah," He acknowledged, tightly.

"C'mon. She's the camera's darling. She is!"

"Yes, she is. She's Quinn Fabray, after all."

Noticing the change in his body language, she changed the subject.

"How do you propose, Lea, to get Beth to sign on to this little project? Its 180 degrees apart from what she's doing now, she has no interest in acting, anymore. You remember that little thing called the hippocratic oath?"

"She would, if you pledge 10% of the profits to Stacy's House Organizational Fund."

"Well, you've thought this through." He shook his head. "Why her? Why does it have to be her?"

"Did you read her op-ed in the New England Journal of Medicine? No? Of course not. Well, it was so well written, so mature, and she made me believe in reform of the health care system - so that all pepople would be looked at fairly. People wouldn't be judged, on where they've been...or what their mental abilities are..."

"Or if they're recovering addicts."

Her jaw tensed up. "Or that, yes."

"Look, Lea, I get it. The two of you really bonded during the play, and then she was gone, and it wasn't the same for you. And now, you've both suffered loss- profound loss- that's driving you forward in the today. But Lea, wouldn't it be simpler to just call her up and have lunch with her? Renew your friendship?"

Lea gave him a stony look.

"Well, I'm just sayin'...is it really necessary to create an_ entire production_ around a movie that's going to flop, all so you can renew your BFF status with Beth?"

"It won't flop, Artie."

"NO ONE wants to see a bunch of yapping...women yapping...lesbian women yapping..._angry_ lesbian women yapping!"

"That's where you're wrong. Everyone wants to see that! Especially if it's sexy angry lesbian women yapping."

"At its core, its kind of boring. Its dull for movies. But I give you this, L,I does tweak a bit of interest, especialy if it's sexy angry lesbian women yapping..._sexily._"

"Sexily? Is that even a word?"

"Does it convey what_ I'm feelin'_, dawg?"

Lea visibly shuddered. "Do not_ ever_ utter that phrase again, in your natural lifetime, Artie."

"Hey, I'm the director. I get to be eccentric and nerdy."

"Mmm. It's just that its such a slippery slope down from "eccentric" into the "creepy" and "Norman Bates" purvue, however, Dawg. Besides, _why you hatin'_ on these women? I thought you loved the Shell Collector gals!"

"I_ do_ love them. I loved them when it was actually happening the first time, and I loved the Q Recap. I even love Faberry 3.0. Clearly I am not the lost demographic as I I loves me some Angry women who yap. Remember, I am the minority of the viewing public."

"Well, Artie, you're a genius. Figure out how to make it_ the majority._ Let's make a movie!"

**XOXOXOX**

Artie would call it the "Rachel Berry Phenonominia" later in life...anyone that came close to touching the orb of fire that was Rachel, if you circled her universe, some of her magic would even rub off on you. You might even be able to pull off the occasional Rachel Berry miracle.

He watched Lea plot, scheme, cajole, and outright bribe those necessary to get the movie made and cast. Quinn even signed on as long as she didn't have to do frontal nudity. Beth however, was the expected challenge, but oddly Lea never approached her head on.

She had Sue do it.

It wasn't difficult - the back end promise to Stacy's House was a no brainer. Artie imagined the abrupt conversation between the former coach and her former non-HBIC looked something like this:

Sue: Beth. It's Silvester.

Beth: I know. I have caller ID. Also, you're on my speed dial. I talk to you, like, every day.

Sue: (disregarding Beth's rant) So, that amped up ferret who bugs me in a manner very analagous to the actual Rachel Berry ferret called me for the fifteenth time.

Beth: (laughing)._ Lea?_ Is this about that movie thing?

Sue: They made an offer we can't refuse.

Beth: Sue, I'm a little busy these days.

Sue: People will still be sick and still dying when you get back. You'll manage their putrid lives and give them an extra 15 miserable days of life when you get back...they'll still be dying for god's sakes! You, however, could use a sabbatical. Your Chief Resident told me you're going to get the residency program put on probation becuase you insist on working more than 80 hours a week on a regular basis.

Beth: I don't clock it.

Sue:_ You need a life._ Come to Hollyweird and read for this movie.

Beth: When?

Sue: They have a plane for you tomorrow.

Beth: Tommorow?

Sue: Did I stutter?

Beth: But...its my call night, and its yellow jello day in the cafeteria! I waited all week for this!

Sue: I have nothing to say to that. Be on the plane, Corcoran. After that yellow jello comment, I'm thinking, its**_ imperative._**

Beth: But...

Sue: I am having people come pick you up tomorrow 6am sharp. Do not hide. I will find you. That's how Sue...

Beth: "C"'s it. Bah! (disgruntled) Fine! Damn it.

XOXOXOX

Artie was such a magnificant director because he had been such an astute observer of life. He caught the little things no one else did. He watched, he reflected, he observed, and he wasn't afraid to impletment or improve or put those observations into practice.

So, while Lea gave lip service and did the press junket about how she was looking forward to working with Beth again, because of their commanilities about their loss of loved ones, and all the perfunctory conversations regarding the past, and yet, that's not what Artie observed.

That wasn't the urgency, or the need to work with her again.

Dozens of interviews to the contrary, this wasn't about _that._ Lea didn't want to work with Beth because of their past similarities mired in tragedy; no... as the days of the read throughs and blocking work on, he observed the shy glances Lea would cast at Beth; the blush that would come over her face when Beth would tease her; and the inexorable manner in which the two would seem to find each other on every break or bit of down time, or end up next to each other in every group photograph.

Artie observed a woman who very much did not want to remain trapped in the past...she was a woman who wanted to move forward. Badly.

"What, so you think she's just using Beth?" Quinn exploded, after hearing Artie's theories about Beth and Lea.

"Shhh! Keep your voice down. Can you go back to when you were the edgy, worldy-wise sounding board, producing-partner I used to have, please?"

"_Do you think she's using Beth_, Artie?" Quinn's eyes were burning hot. "Because I refuse to let Beth be hurt -

"Calm down, Tiger Mama! Jesus! Forget it, you can't be objective on this."

Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose, and sighed. "Yes, I can, Artie. I'm sorry. Go ahead."

"Besides, even if she wanted to tap dance on Beth's anal pucker for cheap therapy, what are you going to do, Fabray, go in all renegade? Let me order your Chaps...'This here's Sheriff Fabray, and youre not gonna be molestin' my fine as frog hair daughter!' That's not going to work, Quinn."

"I know. I realize how ridicioulous I sounded."

"Besides, I actually don't think Lea has one iota of self-awareness that this is what she's doing."

"Really? Then, why are you so convinced?"

"I mean, well. It's like this...the mind is an amazing organ, Quinn. It will do anything to protect its owner. While I think that Lea's ready to move on. But she lost a significant other, so tragically and unexpectedly, that wow! Shock. But now, time has passed, and she's ready to go forward with her life. But...that would make her feel so guilty, she couldn't live with herself."

"So...she's sublimating."

"Something like that. She pushes this movie to get made, but she gives herself and Beth Act II. Act II, Quinn, the most intimate part of the story. Don't you see? She wants permission to feel all these things for someone, all of this love, and passion, and desire, but she doesn't want to feel guilty. But she wants those things, badly."

"With Beth, or anyone."

"With Beth, most definitely."

"She doesn't set off my gaydar, not even a little bitty bit, A squared."

He chuckled. "It certainly wouldn't be the first time a brunette _"went gay_" for a Fabray, Quinn."

"Well, what does the great and powerful Oz have to say about Beth, then? Is it a two way street?"

"Good Question. I don't know, hard to read. Beth is so closed off nowadays, its hard to find her currency. But she reminds me of you, back in the you-and-Rachel-and-Finn-High School Musical Days."

Quinn gave him a quizzacal look.

"I mean, like its deja vu again...Beth acts like she's annoyed by all of Lea's ramblings, but she's always_ justrightthere_, next to Lea. I catch her looking at Lea, but it's very controlled. Like she's daring herself to look...or_ something._ Like Lea is her kryptonite."

"Hmm. She sounds just like a Fabray."

"No she's just -_ hurt._ She'll get better."

"Do not deny the Fabray in her!" Quinn said, melodramatically. "It could take weeks."

"Not if," He leaned forward in his most Hitchcockian conspiratorial impression, "you _push the envelope, _my dear Quinn."

"Tip the velvet?"

"Exactly."

XOXOXOX

"These rewrites...um, I don't think my agent has seen these..."Lea said, in a high pitched nervous tone.

Beth walked up to the table read with her ubiquitous cup of coffee. "What rewrites?"

"Fer Christs Sakes," Said Demi, playing Lima Adjacent, "Lea, no one wants to see your trainer-bra boobies. _Please_. Unless they're dispensing magnifying glasses with the tickets. This shit'd have to be on IMAX or something."

_From the sidelines, Quinn whispered, "Uh oh. Should we step in? Artie, shaking his head, put a hand across in front of Quinn to stop her intervention. _

_"Wait. Let this unfold."_

At the holding pen on the soundstage, Lea's blush was unmistakable. "My breasts are _just fine,_ thank you, just because I don't need to go under the knife to surgically enhance MY talents..."

Demi stepped up and looked down on the smaller brunette. "God, I'm so sick of you! Are you implying I had a boob job, or that I'm untalented?"

Lea raised her eyebrows, defiantly. "Well, if the shoe fits..."

"Let's see this shoe fit up your ass, _biyatch_!" Demi huffed forward, to which Beth cooly stepped between them.

"Don't spill my coffee, please, Lovato." Beth said, calmly.

Demi paused slightly. "_I like you_, Beth, don't get involved. This is between me and the hobbit, here."

Beth looked around. "I don't see any hobbits."

Both women huffed.

"Listen, gals, I think we're all .._.tired._ We've been working some long hours, here. Catching the tail end of your..um..discussion...I think you are failing to hear each other. So if I may, as I understand it: Demi, you would like Lea to stop being so loud on set, and sounding like a frenetic hobbit."

"Yes! Exactly."

"Especially when you're a wee hung over."

"Yup."

Beth turned to face Lea. "Lea, you have essentially called Demi an untalented, breast-enhanced individual, yes?"

"I didn't say that, exactly."

Beth shot her a warning look.

"Okay, I _might_ have implied it."

"To which, Demi took umbrage, understandably so. I think we can all agree Demi is very talented, yes?"

Lea grumbled a yes.

"However, Demi, don't protest too much when your shit, stinks,_ ¿lo entiendes?"_

"What are you implying, **Beth?**"

"Really?" Beth raised her eyebrows, taking a sip of her coffee.

"_Really_."

Beth sighed. "Well, Demi, I commend your selection of the trans-axillary augmentation. Smart."

_"Oh shit," Whispered Quinn to Artie. "She's going to go all doctor on her ass."_

The young physician continued. "The incision line is hard to see. However, the potential disadvantage to this approach, and the reason it is opted for only 10-12% of the time, is that proper implant positioning is very difficult, unless performed by a skilled surgeon, using fiberoptics. And to the trained physician's eye, your left implant is placed asymmetric to your right, not following the _Facial Plane_."

"Goddamnit, Corcoran."

"Wow." Lea said in amazement.

"Hey, Einstein. You're so goddamned smart with that Grey's Anatomy shit. Why aren't you in the hospital, saving lives instead of with us making a stupid movie?" Demi bantered.

Beth took another drink before replying. Deliberately, she offered, "Who says I_ didn't_ just save a life, just now?"

Winking at Lea, Beth then put her arm around Demi. "Besides, there aren't any hot, very talented characters like you in the hospital, Demi. Just boring doctors and sick patients."

She gave her an air-kiss on the cheek, and walked off to finish her coffee in peace. Lea stood transfixed, with a strange smile on her face, watching the cheerleader-turned actress-turned football days

"Wow." Quinn exhaled.

"Yeah,_ wow_." Artie agreed.

"When were you going to tell me about those re-writes, Artie?"

"Never."

"Gratuitous sex? _Really_?"

"Yep. And l_ots and lots_ of it in Act II! Q, We got the green light for an R rating yesterday! Hey, look...I'm helping the cause, sister! We grow the beard, as it were...Lea gets to rap her head around touching another human being again, Beth gets to prove she is an actual human being and not the stepford doctor, and ...hey. Have I mentioned gratuitous sex? That's a stand alone justification in my opinion. "

He grinned, and wheeled away.

XOXOXOXO


	29. Kick-Ass

Here is an additional list of things I don't own: The James Beard award. Seasonings. Autumn Olives. Snickerdoodles. The movie Kick-Ass and the characters within. All for good clean fun.

**Chapter: Kick-Ass**

Freddie didn't have a chance when it was both Bea, his best friend, and her formadable mother, his beloved Aunt San, tag teaming him. Quinn never got the full story out of him, and just figured, he had four weeks to go during recovery to get better that he was home schooling anyway, and she wouldn't push. Even Rachel was walking on eggshells.

That kind of reticence would not do for the Lopez women, however. And now that Brittany was in the mix, with her innate ability to state the obvious, even if people couldn't see it, was really going to tip the balance. Santana was chomping at the bit to find out what happened. B&B (Bea & Brit) held her back, however, because they were afraid, genuinely, for the lives of the people who did this to him.

While the exchange with the school was pleasant enough when Rachel and Quinn went back and forth, and there were certainly calls, cards, the like - there were no visits from his friends. And that worried Quinn.

Quinn did what Quinn does when she gets worried: she baked.

Apple pies and fritters, snicker doodles, little raspberry quiches, small cheesecakes with autumn olive reduction sauce...chocolate chip cookies. Blueberry turnovers. She would dump them off at Muccino's, and they would be a hit, of course, for the take out crowd; who spotted them through the glass with their rumbly tummies while waiting for their James Beard inspired creation.

"Papa! Quinn brought some more of her pastries!"

"Good! They cleaned us out last night! Walking to the front, he gave Quinn a kiss and a hug. "How's the little prince?"

"He's fine." Bea and Quinn said, simultaneously. Bea blushed as Aunt Quinn arched an eyebrow at her.

She briefly listened to the adults talk in hushed tones, watching Papa shake his head in disgust, and she took of her apron as she headed out the back through the kitchen. "Antony!" She said to the long suffering second in command. "I'm done with the prep work, I have to run one errand and pick up a spice downtown. I'll be right back."

She took after her mother in the cunning department. With Quinn here, that meant Freddie had a minute alone. She rode her bike hard straight to the Berry-Fabray house.

She sent Freddie a quick text: Eagle has landed. ETA 7 minutes till DZ.

He chucked. She isnisted on codes and military lingo. That, coupled with her junior title in mixed martial arts, made her the baddest prep cook in New York - and she wasn't even old enough to drive. Letting herself in with her key, she caught her friend playing Call of Duty.

"WTF with boys and this stupid game? Okay Fredster, put the remote down We need to talk."

Some bandages had come off, but his face was still discolored from the bruising.

"What's up, Split-Pea?"

"What to the actual fuck, to borrow Mama's phrase, happened to you? Which boy beat you up?"

"Boys." He corrected, uncomfortably. "I can hold my own, one on one. That's why they..."

Bea was seething. "What did they do? Did they jump you?"

He nodded.

"How many?"

He shook his head. "I dunno. Like, seven, I think? They run around in a pack of twelve, so it could have been more. My eyes were swollen shut so I couldn't see."

Seven, against one. Bea was getting her Lima Adjacent by proxy up. She started swearing...in Italian.

"What are you smiling about? That's fucked up, Freddie!"

"I love having you and your Ma around, all the multinational swearing, it feels like my summer at the UN."

"No bullshit. Your nosy mother is going to be back soon. Now, for real, Freddie: I've never pushed, I've never asked. I'm asking today, and I need you to tell me. Why did they beat you up and Who are they?"

"They run the school, Bea. I'm not going to tell you. Their parents are all well connected and nothing's going to happen to them."

"Even if YOU...Mr. definition of connected...says something?"

"Especially me. They marked me the minute Mom put me in that school. They didn't want to lose any "power," like I'd ever bully kids and extort them and the shit they do. They've made my life hell, there. I am just counting the days."

"So, what happened?"

"Bea, pinky"

He went there. Since they were little, if one of them swore the other to a pinky promise, it was as good as gold. Better.

"No, Fredster. I have to tell the adults!"

"Then, no, Split-Pea."

"Fine!" She grumbled, raising her pinky. "Pinky."

"There's this asshole, his name is Trig Stoughton, he runs the place. His second, is this loser named Larry Finklestein, his second in command. Then they have the enforcer, Emmett Daughtry, Mr. Roid Rage, himself..."

He rattled of the list, which Bea committed to her photographic memory.

"So, why'd they do it?"

"I caught them. I caught them with GHB in the locker room before soccer practice."

"And? What did they want with GHB? That doesn't seem like very much fun."

"Well it is, to them, if you plan on using it at the girls' school mixer and having sex with unconscious or delerious girls against their will."

"No fucking way! So, where'd they get it?"

"One of their dad's owns a pharmacy, he works there; another kid has a dad who runs some big biotech lab in the city. They have access...to a lot of stuff."

"Mm." Bea nodded. "So, wha'd you do?"

"I told the headmaster!"

"And?"

"No physical evidence was found. Without any evidence, nothing happened to them. But they did cancel the mixer, at least. He believed me, but there was nothing he could do. Then, then jumped me in the middle of the night in the boys bathroom."

"Did anyone see?"

"I don't know, I doubt it. Even if they did, no one is going to testify against them! It would be suicide. Do you know how many assaults Emmett has, that have never been charged? They let it be known, I'm marked. I laid there, bleeding, until the custodian found me in the morning."

"You almost died..." Her voice trailed off.

"Yes, I almost did. It hurt so bad, I wish I had."

"You can't go back."

"I thought about it. You know, Bea, I'm the only one who stands up to them, who says anything. Look, I have your mom's power, Papa's boxing lessons, and my mom's cash flow behind me, and I'm terrified. What are ordinary kid stands a chance against them? At least I've been able to stop some of the really bad things. What if I hadn't been there?"

"What a bunch of fucking cowards. Who are their parents? This is fucked up?"

"Most of them were raised by nannies, or other people. Or, they have fucked up parents. I've heard your mom talk about Trig's dad before, and how much she hates him. I'm telling you, it was like this when I got there, it will be like that when I leave. They call themselves the skull and bones, like the Yale secret society. This has been going on for years. It's not going to change."

"You need to home school, Freddie."

"I thought about it...but, no. The "accidents" to kids will start happening again, and a lot of bad crap."

"That's why you won't tell your folks what happened. They'd never let you go back."

"Yup. Remember, pinks, Split Pea."

"You're an idiot."

"I prefer 'one of the good guys.'"

"Idiot."

She leaned down, and finding one patch of non-bruised skin on his cheek, gave it a kiss, and left.

"But you're _my_ idiot." She said in a hushed tone. "They're not getting away with this."

She peddled away, narrowly missing Quinn while the cyclist was deep in thought. She made one stop at iParty on the way back to the restaurant, and presented Papa with a bag, privately.

"What's this, gnocchi? Are we going trick or treating this year?"

"Something like that." She said, grimly.

XOXOXO

Interesting things were happening at the Nobels & Clearwater Boys Academy. Boys came to school with specific broken bones - arms, knees, fingers and definitely frightened.

"Trig, I'm out." The first boy said. "I'm quitting Skull and Bones."

"What? You don't quit...that's suicide!"

He didn't understand the next comment. "Yes, but if I don't, its murder. Those are my choices. I'm out Trig."

One by one, that day, the battered and broken young men came to school and handed in their resignations to the leader. They didn't talk about it, they sat by themselves in the lunchroom, they looked...haunted. They didn't talk about it, even to each other. Trig was hemorrhaging disciples. He was down to five, plus him.

"What the fuck is happening?"

"Shit, you should have pimped them before letting them quit."

"Shut the fuck up, Larry, no one asked you to think. They're all scared...of what? They're more scared of something than they are of ... me."

That didn't sit well with him. He chose not to order a blanket party that night, which would be a fatal mistake. It was the last time he had critical numbers. He was seething when three more people quit. It was down to him, Larry, and Emmett.

"We need info, guys. Emmett, I need you to get info, no matter how you do it. Do it from Westholtz. He's weak. Just don't kill him."

At dinner, Emmett met Trig. Larry was late, and that annoyed him greatly.

"Fucknuts, Trig. I had to choke him till he was almost dead, then put his head in the toilet. It wasn't until I shit in it first that he finally told me something - and its shit."

Trig made an 'out with it' gesture.

He leaned forward. "It's Hit-Girl and Big Daddy. They're after Skull and Bones."

"What the fuck?"

Emmett nodded. "They beat the shit out of them. Then, they pulled up pictures of their families, girlfriends, etc. Said they'd kill them. Their whole family, if they didn't quit."

"That's specific."

"Yup. Here's the freaky part. They said they were hired by th_e school administration._ They pulled out transcripts, records, all the shit that's in our personal file. Said a dossier was given to them by these people, on each of us. There's no way they could have gotten it, unless they're telling the truth. They said they'll know if they really quit or not."

"Fuck." He narrowed his eyes, looking at the muscled boy across from him. "Did they take anything? Their wallets? Money?"

"Just their phones, so they couldn't call anyone after. They used it to call 911 for his kid."

The tall leader did not like this. He did not like it at all. And where the fuck was Larry?

The next morning, on his way to the first of his two-a-days for football, Emmett felt himself getting tugged backwards. He struggled for a moment until the chloroform's sweet smell sent him unconscious. He would remember nothing, and never saw who grabbed him...but as he opened his eyes, the light was white. Very white.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Champ." A nurse with a gravely voice said, taking his blood pressure.

"What happened?"

"You're lucky to be alive is what happened."

His head was killing him. The setting was totally unfamiliar. It was a hospital, but not the school infirmary...where was he?

"Where am I?"

"Wow, you really gorked yourself out, didn't you?" She chuckled. "You're in county General, ICU. I'm going to let the doctor know you're awake, now."

She stepped out, and his eyes met the police officers' guarding the door. He looked next to him, to the 1:1 aide sitting next to him. "Where are my parents?"

No one said anything. His head was throbbing, and his eyes barely focused with the bright light.

A tired looking doctor walked in. "Okay, Mr. Daughtry. Can you tell me what drugs you were doing last yesterday?"

"Wh-what? I don't do drugs!"

The doctor held up his tell-tale syringes, in an evidence bag. "Anabolic steroids, for one. You have enough in your bloodstream to kill a horse."

"Okay, where are my parents? Where's my lawyer?"

"I actually need to know what drugs you were doing, because we are having a very difficult time keeping your blood pressure steady. We have been working with toxicology and poison control, and we've identified the opiates, definitively. We know there's something else, too. You would make my job a lot easier if you would just frankly tell me."

He looked dumbstruck. He looked down at his arms. Track marks.

Someone had injected him...

"I didn't do this! someone did it to me!"

"Okay, I can see this is going no where. Your parents have been called..."

"Hey..where's my phone?"

"...and they'll be arriving shortly."

A Police sergeant stepped into the room, joining the guard. "Is he ready for questions, doctor?"

"Who knows. Go ahead. He's a junkie, he could crash. Might as well do this while he's lucid."

The sergeant walked over to the boy. "Mr. Daughtry, You are Being placed under arrest. You have the right to remain silent when questioned. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning, if you wish-"

"Wait a minute. Your arresting me? What the fuck for?"

"If you decide to answer any questions now, without an attorney present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?"

"What the fuck am I being charged with?"

"Illegal possession of GHB, marijuana, and opiates, son. Do you wish to have an attorney present?"

Things went rapidly downhill for him, the GHB was identified as that removed from the pharmacy and the lab, the toxicology confirmed the illegal substances in his blood stream - and his phone was gone. He was expelled from school, and disqualified from any future varsity sports by the National Federation of State High School Association. He was a juvenile, and he wouldn't do much "hard time," but the damage was done.

Trig was nervous. He was person non gratis. As it turned out, Larry had just been a chicken, and ran away from school. He refused to go back. So he was all alone. Waiting. Wondering. Wondering why he hadn't been hit yet. He looked terrible.

Adding salt to the wound, the fucking pansy prince returned to school, and got treated like a hero. Worse, some of his old friends sat by him at lunch, his soccer team mates. Trig kept to himself, waiting.

Until the wait was over.

Three weeks after Freddy had returned to school, the lunch door slammed open. What looked like the entire The New York SWAT team walked in. Freddy's jaw dropped. The last person to enter, in tow with the headmaster?

_His Aunt Santana._

Her eyes, blazing with fire, were focused on one person. And it was not him. She was in her perfectly tailored suit, and marched over to Trig, who looked scared.

"Are you Trig Stoughton?"

"Yes.."He answered nervously.

"Mr. Stoughton, As Attorney General of the State of New York, it gives me great pleasure to inform you that you are Being placed under arrest for the assault of," She pointed across the hall, at Freddie. "My nephew. You have the right to remain silent when questioned. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police.."

He sent an evil glare to Freddie.

Santana leaned down into his face. "Hey!" She hollered into his face, startling him. Hissing, she said, "I don't like little boys who don't pay attention. That will cost you. And no, it wasn't my nephew. I received an anonymous package with...these."

She held up the multiple cell phones.

"The next time you commit a heinous crime, don't film it, asshole. And don't film it ... on eight different cameras. Your little cronies plea-bargained their way out of this , and have already provided depositions. They won't they do jail, and can actually go to college someday, unlike you, asshole. It's as tight as your puckerhole probably is right now. I told your father, this morning."

The color drained out of his face.

The cafeteria burst into cheers as he was led away by the police. As she passed, Santana gave Freddie a wink. He motioned to the squad with his fingers, silently asking, "SWAT team?"

"That's how I roll, Freddie. See you at home."

There were many things in his life that he would never know the answers to; questions such as, What causes migranes? Where did mankind come from? Who built the pyramids? These questions. But the really important questions, like, Did the administration really hire the hit team? How did they get the stuff to inject Emmett with? What happened at the hospital, and who dropped him off? Who sent Santana the anonymous package, and how did she get the depositions out of the ex-Skull and Crossbone members? Most importantly, was there really a Hit-Girl and Big Daddy?

The last question, he suspected he didn't want to know the answer.

As he and Bea sat on the roof looking down on the neighborhood, as they liked to do, Freddie looked over at Bea. They never once talked about what happened. He looked at her, though, with a look of silent understanding.

"You know I love you, Bea, right?"

"I know." She smiled.

He put his arm around her and they watched the sun set, in peaceful silence.

**TBC.**

A/N: I have no idea if an Attorney General even has the power to arrest someone, and I'm sure they wouldn't kick in a door for with a SWAT team in a school. However, I just liked the dramatic effect, so before I get MAIL, let me say - use willing suspension of disbelief, here. Because this IS what San would do. ;)


	30. The Celluloid Shell, Part II

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

**Pairing(s):** Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/B, RP Lea / FP Beth?

**Rating**: M/NC-17 ratings. With some filler crap known as plot.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, NYU, Tiffany's, or motherhood in general. I don't own any of the real actors of Glee either (that would be kind of creepy if I did). I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required. P.S. More shit I don't own: Lea Michele. Demi Lovato. That hot chick from Rent. The hot mess that is Myley Cyrus. The Hippocratic oath. Yellow Jell-O. Diet Coke.

**Summary**: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N: **True confessions - not the uncomfortable Myley Cyrus type of confessions - just an honest confession: a reviewer (**Katy**, was it you that originally had the idea?) Threw this idea of a coupling of Beth-Lea out there and I have to say, it inspired a brief and furious rewrite of a few chapters. Thanks for the reviews, and see, _I can listen._ I, like my father, just occasionally choose NOT to. Tragic flaw.

P.S. (loud stage whisper) RP = real person FP = fake person.

**Chapter: The Celluloid Shell, Part II**

It didn't help, certainly, that the "Real Person" Lima Adjacent would pop on set from time to time and offer her "Fake Person" collegiate counterpart a few choice zingers or two, from "_back in the day_" for Lea and Demi's relationship.

"Here's _Santana 101_, Junior, _now in session_: After you've gone after the whole gestalt, insulting the _entire being, _with tried and true classics such as "treasure trail," "hobbit", etc... You've set the framework. Now, you can really hone in on body parts, and drill down on the meaty parts…i.e. _the schnozzle_- I mean, **for reals**. Your honor, I rest my case!"

Demi laughed until she snorted Diet Coke out of her nose.

"So, Junior, another creative twist on the meaty parts theme is to go for the_ lack_ of meaty parts- i.e. my personal favorite was to refer to her breasts as _"skeeter bites"._..

She had her younger doppelganger balled up on the floor, gripping her sides in laughter. "Santana! You should tell Rosario these, too! For Part III!"

"Oh, honey, I DID! She's heard 'em all! She put up with a full 13 months of this horse CaCa on Broadway… with _this crew_, remember?"

It didn't help that Demi had a small dose of hero worship for the brilliant litigator. She looked forward to her guest appearances on set. Rachel would moan to Quinn, "I swear, she just encourages Santana towards bad behavior. Its like she regresses to 15 years ago!"

"Just wait, Rach. Give San some credit."

_"Skeeter bites?_"Rachel responded, indignantly.

"That was a long time ago. And I love your skeeter bites. Want me to show you?"

"Quinn!"

That moment of redemption came, six days into filming. Demi finally broke down one day, and asked the question that had been bothering her all this time. "Santana - I have to ask, cause _you_ are just, like, the _total_ shit! What happened to your raging hobbit allergic complex? I mean, you two are like, all BFFs and shit, now - what the hell happened?"

The older woman shrugged_. "Meh_...I grew up. One day actually looked - really looked, and I saw how _totally awesome_ she really is. We were so fucking mean…despite that, nothing, nothing we could throw at her would bring her down, nothing! She was like this little indestructible energizer…hobbit."

San grinned slightly.

" And we were bitches, just total_ irrational_ bitches. **Q-ball's **excuse was that she was madly in love with her combined with such deep seeded self-loathing she would never come to grips with it.** Me**, well, I saw a strong person before me that _just didn't care _what everyone thought - and it was such the painful opposite of me - I cared what _everyone_ thought, all the time."

Demi shifted her weight, the truth hitting a little close to home.

"Look, Junior. It's why I was so miserable. Here she was, being whoever the hell she wanted to be, and I was stuck so far in the closet, and full of disgust for myself. And instead of looking inward, I blamed it all - my self-loathing, my self-doubt, and my love of things I could never have..._on her._ Somehow, it was this little midget's fault that… I wasn't free."

"That seems...kinda _dumb_."

"Yes. Because it **was** dumb."

_"Cagaste y saltaste en la caca."_

"I'm lucky that Berry was dropped on her head as a child and doesn't have much of a memory for things – like how shitty I was to her. Because if she _hadn't _forgotten, she would look at me like she_ should_…like the monster I used to be. She would remember the wretched, insecure girl…and I would have missed out on the best, most loyal, friend I've _ever _had….next to B."

The last words came out slowly, as though it was literally painful for each word to roll off the lawyer's tongue. Demi nodded slowly.

"Get it?"

"Yeah," she said, hopping off her director's chair.

"Where are you going?"

"Meh! I think…I think I'm going to go see what Lea and Beth are up to. Haven't seen 'em in awhile."

Santana smiled, but grabbed Demi's arm. "I'm glad you're learning. But take my advice…I'd think twice about that friendship circle right this second, if I were you, Strawberry Shortcake."

"Huh?"

"_Wait_ … until you see the whites of their eyes. Trust me. You do not want to be walking into some shit that your eyes cannot _un_-see. This comes from a lot of personal experience. I had a gift for interruption, it seemed."

Demi's eyes widened. "No way! You think they … Beth and Lea? _No way!_ No. Fucking. Way!" Then, a devilish grin slid across the younger woman's face. "Interruption, huh? _ Let the tradition continue! _Oh, and San…"

"Mm-hmm?"

"_Gracias por la charla_. Really."

"Anytime."

XOXOXOXOXO

"Last minute rewrites throw me off, Beth. _Thanks so much_ for coming over to run lines with me!" Lea said, grin wide across her face.

_Too eager, Lea. _She thought, worriedly. _ Calm it the fuck down._

"No prob. But…I would think that that sorta happens, like all the time in "Glee", doesn't it?"

"No, never!" _Lie, lie, lie._

Lea continued, nervously, "See, Ryan Murphy is, like, this compulsive zealot…" _That part is actually true._

"..and he stays _married_ to the original script." _When he even shows up, anymore._

"So, my ability to … improv, on the fly, is a little rusty."

_Horseshit, and you know it, Michele…but who cares? It got her in your trailer, didn't it?_

She looked nervously at the young doctor. Beth looked back. Then, time stopped. For a split second, Lea could have_ sworn_ she saw something there…what was it? Enjoyment? Perhaps. Maybe even stirrings of something more? But just as quickly as it ghosted across the blonde's face, it left, just as quickly. Beth closed herself off. She had a funny look on her face when she said briskly to Lea,

"Well, lets get started, then! Chop, chop!"

That push and pull dynamic didn't go away, for the entire afternoon. They ran their lines, but didn't actually act out the intimate first kiss that would lead to their first sexual encounter…

Until the second read through, Lea was sure this time, sure that she saw… desire. Beth was looking at her lips, longingly….

Unconsciously, Lea licked them.

Beth looked at her feet, clearing her throat, nervously.

"Well, I think we've got it, down. So…I'll see you at shooting, in 15 mikes?"

As she turned for the door, Lea burst out, "Wait! Um…we haven't decided! Right or Left?"

"What do you mean, _right or left_?"

Lea scooted up to Beth, facing her, standing just a hair too close…Beth was certain she could feel Lea's heat, radiating off her…

It was doing weird things to her.

"You know, the kiss! Which way do you want to go? Of course, it depends on Blocking, but assuming we're standing in this direction, do you generally go…" Lea slid her arms, slyly, up and around Beth's neck as she continued, "to the right?" Lea leaned in a bit, and looked up with her big doe eyes, sending Beth's heart beat racing. "Or, do you prefer… the left? " Her lips were ghosting over Beth's. She could feel her breath. Continuing in a whisper, she said, "This is an important question, you know."

Beth, observing her arms, almost as a detached observer as opposed to the actual owner of said arms, watched them as they slid, involuntarily, around the smaller girl's waist.

Raising her eyebrows in slight disbelief, she continued to watch as they seemed to next be pulling her…_closer._

Lea was pressing against the front of Beth's torso, feeling her warmth, and looking up at her.

It was unclear as to who leaned in first, but their lips came crashing down, hard, at the same time.

Lea melted into the kiss, putting every passionate, unspoken desire she had had for this woman over the past few years into that kiss; Beth, inexperienced in the swarm of emotion overtaking her, felt a jolt of fire shoot between her legs.

As a result, she…moaned.

Beth Corcoran moaned.

That simple, guttural utterance set fire to Lea's libido. The confirmation that Beth felt this too, even a little sent her into overdrive. With the small separation of her mouth, Lea attacked her lips in response, pushing her tongue deep into Beth's mouth.

The contact with this….precision instrument, peppering the back of her mouth, finally wrestling with her _own _tongue, _shocked_ Beth. And it set her on fire. She returned the kiss, gripping Lea everywhere; her back…her hair…her shoulders….she couldn't touch her _enough._ Beth wanted to slide her hands down further, much lower, to touch that ass, that magnificent ass, she had noticed on the first day of filming. To knead that ass. Her physician's hands had touched countless bodies before, but they never caused a bolt of lightning to tap dance from her nipples to her clit in such a rapid-fire circuit…

Lea urged Beth backwards, as her patellar fossa touched lightly the edge of Lea's couch. She allowed her self to be pushed down, back down, onto the couch. Lea promptly straddled her, looking down at the breathless Blonde.

"You are so….beautiful, Beth. So beautiful."

"Thank you." She blushed.

Lea leaned down, and gave her a passionate kiss, albeit brief; just as quickly, she raised up to look at the woman below her, again.

"And you have no…_.fucking_….idea, just how gorgeous you actually are, do you?" Lea said, intensely.

Beth swallowed. You could hear a pin drop, at the two looked at each other.

In a deliberate motion, Lea rocked her pelvis backward. Due to the rather indecent straddling position they were in, from Lea mounting the shy doctor, the sensation was _unmistakable._ Lea's pussy hole made a grinding motion, one that was excruciating, …_against Beth's clit._

Involuntarily, Beth threw her head back, and make a guttural noise, of sheer arousal.

"_Oh, God!_ Lea….."

She had little time to catch her breath, as the brunette jammed her pelvis backwards again, rubbing most deliberately against Beth's swelling clit.

"Fuck!"

The sound of Beth, losing control, was enough to cause Lea to lose her grip on the little control she had left. She didn't care. It was time for some cold, hard, truth. She _wanted _Beth. She wanted Beth. She wanted to…_fuck… _Beth.

A lot.

Sliding her leg in between Beth's two, Lea deftly jammed her knee against Beth's center, pressing it against the blonde's opening. "_I want to fuck you…._ a lot, Beth. A lot…" Beth's center was burning, hot. Lea smashed her lips down on Beth's as she gave her sloppy kisses, tongue penetrating her mouth, while she pressed her knee harder into Beth's warmth. And she could feel Beth, getting even warmer.

Hot, even.

Suddenly, Lea's lips and mouth were everywhere; on Beth's pulse point on her neck, Behind her ear; On her collarbone, then back to her neck, sucking hard with a little bit of pain. Abstractly, Beth realized makeup would likely have to do something about that…from where Lea marked her, sucking her; Beth's entire body was beginning to shake.

Lea's mouth continued – chest. Then, on the tip of her nipple, over her shirt. Beth strained to raise the nipple to meet Lea's eager mouth, moaning her consent.

"OhmyfuckingGod, Lea. Take my shirt off, Lea. Take it – _ohhhhhhh!"_

She was silenced by the swift movement of the removal of her shirt, the unclasping of her bra, and the demanding tug of Lea's mouth, on her bare nipple. Years on Broadway, with quick backstage change of costumes, had finally paid off. Beth was arching her back, urging her body towards Lea's mouth. Her gifted, gifted mouth!

As she rocked backwards, moaning under the ministrations of Lea's mouth sucking her breast, while she kneaded the other with her hand, was driving Beth mad. She involuntarily spasmed her leg, slicing it between Lea's – and Beth's eyes shot open, as she felt heat radiating off of Lea's commando presentation – despite wearing a sun dress.

So fucking indecent, Beth thought, as she attempted to coordinate her efforts towards slamming her knee into Lea's core, while being driven insane by Lea's insistent mouth, and the knee that was now covered in Beth's wetness, below,

Rachel pulled herself off Beth's swollen nipple and raised up.

While Beth looked on, Lea deftly removed her dress, in one motion. Beth did, however, beat her to the snap of her bra, earning her a impressed look.

Beth's breath caught in her throat, as she looked at the goddess that was straddling her, naked.

She literally took her breath away.

Timidly, she placed her hands on Lea's side, stroking her gently. Looking up, she saw Lea's eye, dilated, possessed; she was rocking, and panting…

Beth's hands quickly sought out Lea's breasts, stroking the nipples until they became hard points.

She gave her a deliberate glance as she pinched them…._hard._

"Fuck!" Lea gasped.

Tumbling down, she laid on top of the blonde. The sensation of the contact caused them both to seize, slightly. Gasping, they felt the electrifying sensation of their skin touching the other's skin. Then, their lips found each other; again, longing for the recent memory of the other…kissing, pressing…bold.

_Needy._

They had abandoned all modesty at this point, and were now rocking, furiously, grinding against each other…full of need, and want. It was unbridled lust, and intense, long-standing desire, that needed to be sated. It needed to be doing_ exactly_ what they were doing…

Lea could feel her walls begin to tighten.

"I'm close, Beth…" she gasped.

"Oh, fuck!" Beth said, as she pulled a hand from the grip on Lea's back, and winding it down between their sweaty torsos, allowing her fingertips to snake against the swollen bead between Lea's legs….

Lea's head slammed into Beth. "Holy f_ucking_ God. Don't stop. Don't stop…**.that.** Don't fucking stop…."

Beth abstractly realized she was tasting blood in her mouth…she had bitten Lea's neck, accidentally, while rubbing her clit at a determined and furious pace. She was uncertain whose blood it actually belonged to.

Lea forced her pelvis up as Beth ground hers down – Lea could _feel_ her orgasm building …she could _feel_ the well of emotions bubbling over… She could feel...

_She could feel herself falling in love with Beth_.

"_Please_, Beth," she gasped. "Right there! Oh, Right there! Yes, _yes,_ yes! Right there…."

A sudden banging on the door caused them to startle, abruptly.

"**_Corcoran!_** **_Lea!_** What to the actual fuck are you doing in there?" It was the voice of Beth's celluloid second in command.

Lea flew off the blonde, draping a robe around her naked body, tossing a wrap to the blonde. "Demi?" She said, voice shaky.

"No, it's the fucking _Easter Bunny_. Open up! You two already missed your call time! A-squared is going to _kill _you! Do you have your issues worked out yet?"

"Yes." they called back, in unison, redressing quickly. Beth unlocked the door, looking directly at the brunette.

"Oh-**ho!** Looks like the doctor is _playing doctor_ in here! Afternoon, Michele."

"Hello, Demi."

No one said anything.

Finally, Beth spoke. "Um, perhaps we should make our call time, Lea?"

Lea and Demi were startled back to life. "Oh, shit!"

As the barely clad actresses exited Lea's trailer, Demi tossed a quick look back at the diva.

"Hey! Nice shade of lipstick, Lea. But... I'd cover up that hickey before you leave, if I were you." Demi said, with a wink, as she shut the trailer door behind them.

"Oh, no!" Lea said, running to the closest mirror to confirm the Latina's observation.

While jogging back to the set, Demi couldn't hold it in. "Nice_ lipstick_, Dr. B. Looks similar to Lea's..."

"_Shut it_, Half-pint!"

"I mean, _what the fuck_ were you doing? I think you're bleeding, Beth!" She goaded.

Beth gave her a dirty look. "If you must know, we were doing our new script lines, and ….um, determining the blocking on the kiss."

"Looks like you got that shit worked out, then." Demi said, with a wink.

And they had.

They were the unconventional "go to the left" couple, it would appear.

**TBC.**


	31. THE FINAL CHAPTER: Your Vice

** Shell Collector.**

**Pairing(s):** Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/B, RP Lea / FP Beth?

**Rating**: M/NC-17 ratings. With some filler crap known as plot.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, NYU, Tiffany's, or motherhood in general. I don't own any of the real actors of Glee either (that would be kind of creepy if I did). I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required. P.S. More shit I don't own: Lea Michele. Demi Lovato. That hot chick from Rent. The hot mess that is Myley Cyrus. The Hippocratic oath. Yellow Jell-O.

**Summary**: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N: **Yup. Last chapter. There is an epilogue, but marinade on this, first. I love that the KIDS tell the end of the story, especially since the anonymous poster was such a dick about the kids. PS Stop reading if you don't like kids and can't stomach hetero sex. It was actually the first time I wrote het sex…it was weird for me, too. Thanks sincerely, to people reading -Thanks for sticking with it.

**The final chapter: Your Vice.**

Everyone needs a vice. They do. Really.

But what to do, when you're the perfect little Prince? You're one of the good guys, the type who even takes a beating and refuses to stay down. You don't drink. You don't smoke. You don't swear, you don't cheat on tests. Hell, you're even a pescitarian (you don't eat meat) much to your birth mother's disgust. Granted, you're only 17 ½ years old, but by now, most people have a vice. They gamble. They cheat on tests.

You don't even eat _candy._ And like your stepmother, you've never had a cavity, because you are a fanatic follower of good oral hygiene. You treat animals well. You like girls. There is nothing that interesting about you, with one exception. So what do you do, for a vice, when you're a boring do-gooder?

As it turns out, perhaps you aren't _so_ completely pure…

You do the thing you've fantasied about since as long as you've realized what your surprisingly well-endowed anatomy is capable of doing. You were a normal, guy, really, until you hit a late puberty on your sixteenth birthday and your meat just kept growing, and growing, and growing….to its current, almost awe inspiring state. You wish you could have stuck this item in Trig's face two years ago; he'd definitely have shut up, maybe even bowed down to you…

Your vice is obvious. You like to **_bury _**your ridiculously well endowed anatomy, your nine inched, incredibly thick shaft…_no shit, __**nine inches**_… as_ deep_ as you can into the wet, inviting, needy hole that waits for it every night after your unsuspecting parents go to bed.

Your thick, nine thick member must have come from Quinn's side of the family, because, frankly, your dad's business looks like its still awaiting the magic of puberty…Ahem, pardon the digression.

Back to the tight wetness of the girl you've loved your whole life….

Your vice is your addiction to the sight, as you watch yourself as fill her, all the way to the hilt, until your balls are touching the skin of her pussy. Your addiction is the feel of her still tight pussy, while she takes it, like a champ, even though she's much smaller than you, and three years younger. Even though she really shouldn't be having sex at fourteen, and frankly, neither should you, she acts just as needy as you, like she would_ die_ without a daily infusion of your come, shot deep inside her, and you f-ing love that.

You need a vice.

And so does she. Although, you suspect, she's developed a few others. She definitely swears, for one. Usually when you make her come.

You are addicted to the taste of her pussy the times you spend afterschool when the two of you have an unguarded afternoon – which isn't often – and you have the time to first fuck her a few times, pulling out, thrusting in, towards that _spot,_ that spot that the tip of your dick loves to feel, that rough spot inside her that makes her go crazy, and speak Italian like a schizophrenic. It makes her ejaculate all over your dick, and you love the taste of her hole, as you lap up the juices, afterwards.

You know that is truly a sick addiction, a real vice, your need to watch your girl, come undone when she comes for you. You daydream in-between sessions, reflecting on your need to feel the walls of her vaginia, as it clenching around your thick shaft while it hungrily milks your dick…literally, _milk it_, to squeeze every last bit of your sperm out of your ball sacs, as she rides out the last bit of her orgasm. It's as though her hole doesn't want to miss a drop.

And if you're truly honest with your do-gooder self, what you love most about it is the filling part. You love – absolutely love - filling her tight pussy with your come more than anything. Although, as you reflect on it instead of paying attention to your Calc II lesson like you should, you also love watching her swallow your come…that's a close second, especially when she doesn't spill a drop, and swallows it all, while you grip her long black raven hair, forcing it down her throat further in your rare nasty moments.

But if you're really honest, what you adore, is watching your thick ropes of white jizz trickle out of her asshole after you've given her beautiful, pink rosebud ass a good pounding. It's definitely right up there in yum. Her anus tends to gape a little bit, you reflect, because truthfully, you like assfucking her _a lot. _That might be one of your biggest vices; actually, because you love the feeling of stretched her young ass out, a bit, which the two of you only started doing in the last month.

Class over, wandering to your next, you reflect on why you adore it so much. Anal sex with your girl…that is. Possibly, its because she's been so adamantly against it, in the past. She thought it was dirty, gross, unsanitary, and she just couldn't understand how the recipient could get any sexual pleasure from it. You spend the whole class daydreaming about the feel of your most recent encounter, and how she came from just anal sex, so hard, she cried.

You smile, secretly, to yourself, while ignoring your mates as they yap at you at lunch, thinking of your accomplishment. You've turned her into an _ass addict _within a mere month.

How you did it was kind of cheating, in the beginning. Discovering your mother's active sex life by finding poorly hidden toys in their room, and their stored line of credit at Good Vibrations, (you should remind them to clear their cookies one day) your trusting parents never noticed the various things you ordered for yourself on their account. You put out of your head the fact it was because they ordered so much stuff for themselves on a regular basis, because…ew. Who wants to think of their parents, like that? You've overheard your mom fuck Rachel before, though, and you know your skills must come from your mom, as well as your familial endowments.

So your anal vice. To convert your fuck buddy to your way of thinking, you wore a vibrating cock ring around your huge member, only when having anal sex. The sensations of the vibrations killed her from the get go. And, as it turns out, she has a large female vestigial prostate, and loves you fucking her from the backside, and loves the feel of your big member thrusting against it. She can come, guaranteed, from anal sex alone, every time. Sometimes, you'll put a small vibrating plug up her ass while you fuck her pussy straight up, or she'll do it to you; this is best utilized for times when you've fucked so much that you're both over stimulated. It helps you achieve that fifth or sixth orgasm for the times you're unreasonably hungry for her.

If you're feeling greedy like that.

Other things you want? You want to be able to scream from the rooftops that you are "Fucking Beatrice Lopez" (oops, that's a swear) "Every Fucking Night" (another swear) "Multiple Times During The Day." You want everyone to know she's yours. And of course, your hers; and that your monster of a dick, is exclusively hers. Although, you suspect, everyone already assumes you're together, its sort of understood around the neighborhood, among all of your mutual friends, and expected from their families.

Two months after you began this little addition, this vice, and you ran out of condoms – your parents were gone for the night, and you can't believe your bad luck. However,

She lets you fuck her…._raw._ Your eyes popped out of your head and you thought you had an actual heart attack before the age of 18 with the sensation of driving into her raw. Feeling yourself paint her insides with your cum, without a condom. Total frickin' heaven. And she loved it, too. You gripped each other tight, and you slept that night, inside her.

After that, you actually don't think you could make love to her anymore with a condom. It would just feel too weird after that feeling of intense intimacy the two of you shared. However, in the next month, you had a near miss, of repeating your mothers' high school drama, and so the two of you manage to get her on oral birth control immediately due to her_ Menometrorrhagia _a.k.a. "Horrible, bloody cramps refractory to normal pain management" and migraines that seem to be uncontrollable, which is why she has to go lay down in her room in the dark all the time. Sometimes Bea felt bad that her Ma was so gullible, and unknowing to Santana, those were the times Freddy scaled the rope ladder she threw down her window. They had been doing it long before they were having sex. Their parents, honestly, were so gullible—and it was easy to manipulate her doctor into giving her birth control after an awkward pap exam. You're glad, really, that once she was put on oral contraceptives, which was immediately, it actually did help her cramps, and her migraines, which allowed her to focus on more important things…

Things like, your obsession with her pussy.

After you're sure the OCP's have reached steady state in her blood stream, you throw away your condoms. That's when you started to take her multiple times throughout the day. You loved sex with her before, but now? Raw? Sometimes even when your parents are in the next room, you have to have her. One time, she gave you a hand job under the blanket during "family movie night" whacking you off while both sets of parents were in the same fucking room as you! Really, she's just as obsessed with your python as you are with her. You share a vice.

Occasionally, more so lately, as she has really growing into her mature self – Latinia women mature early, you realize -, you think about the future. You fantasize about hiding her birth control; in an irrational fantasy, you dream of impregnating Bea. It would be the ultimate claim, after all. Fortunately, you have a brain, and you both have dreams for the future, and you'd never jeopardize that; but you have to admit, one of the hottest, most erotic feelings you've ever felt, is the feeling of dumping your come into her like she's your own personal cumbasket. You occasionally fantasize, lately, about your sperm going to its intended target… through her os, up her cervix, to fertilize her waiting egg …the one that is waiting to be penetrated by **_your_** sperm, exclusively, and become a baby.

You want to get her pregnant. You don't want to get her pregnant once, you realize, during a time when you're coming forever into her wet opening when your parents are gone, again. Over and over, you want her pregnant, with your babies. You want to keep her pregnant, really. The times you come hardest into her is when you fantasize you've replaced her birth control, or that she secretly threw it away.

You're a sick fuck, you realize. She's your vice.

You have to be commended. When you pick a vice, you commit to it. For example, your latest thing is risky public sex. You love to come in her, almost carelessly, where anyone could find you. It is such a turn on for your Python, and just being with her in public, if she grabs your hand, and smiles, will do you in. Anywhere. Anytime. The power she has over your jock area is ridiculous. You find it shocking the two of you hasn't been caught, yet.

It's a given you two will be married, eventually. The thought of anyone else – anyone – kissing her, touching your first and only love, makes you actively nauseous. You would kill them, you're positive. But that's in the future and does nothing to palliate your need to have a claim on her _now_. She a stunner, already. People gawk at her- and you feel jealous and angry everyday, despite her calm reassurances that "she belongs to you-only you." She doesn't have a leg to stand on when she goes off on the girls that giggle at you and are ridiculously forward. It's hard for her, too. And on your 18th birthday, when GQ names you one of the 20 of the world's most eligible bachelors, despite Quinn furious protests about them "sexualizing her child," Bea Lopez goes _nuts. _Weeks of stark raving nuts, while that episode was on the newsstands. She shreds every copy of the magazine she can find. Only Brittany can calm her down, that first week, with a look, or a hug; she understands the storm that is brewing in the little mini Santana, and it saddens her. She's lived through Lopez jealousy, before.

The week of that article, Bea fucks you violently every time a girl even looks at you. You're not complaining, but the scratch marks and hickeys are getting both painful and hard to cover up. And her need to fuck you all of the time, until your member is raw, is ridiculous, even for the two of you. She calms, slightly, when you give her your promise ring. She cries in your arms, frustrated. She knows you're leaving for college, soon, and she's stuck here another two years. She skipped a grade, as a young child; otherwise it would have been three years.

Bea knows the day of reckoning is coming. She knows you made a promise to give your dad's alma mater, Eton, a chance. You're also a legacy at Oxford, because of your brilliant mother. Even though its your birthright, and has to be faced someday, the idea of leaving the other half of you, across the ocean, is like asking you to stop breathing air.

She's your one true love. Your twin flame. AND, she's your vice.

She's hit her stride, at fifteen; most people assume she's in her twenties, if they don't know who she is, that is. She's the best of all worlds – the woman you want to be better for, and the woman you want to debauch. As it gets closer to the time for you to leave, your physical need for her gets exponentially worse. You WANT people to know that Bea Lopez is YOURS. You want people to know that you give it to her _so fucking good._ (Three swears. Egad, is this now a new vice?)

You want people to know that she is going to be pregnant with your pups, someday, and you will intentionally have sex with her, non-stop, for 30 days straight to make that happen when the two of you decide you're ready. You will get her pregnant, someday. Your mind drifts off to the image of a baby nursing on her tits, a baby that _you made_ with her. You feel yourself start to get hard. You get slightly alarmed when you realize that you wouldn't mind sucking on those titties, too. You stay worried, until Bea laughs, and agrees with you, that that would indeed be a real turn on. You feel relief. She really is the perfect ying to your yang.

As your people see you off at JFK airport for your flight to LHR, you can't tell who is crying harder, between Bea, your mother, your stepmother, Papa and Noni Muccino, but you think it might, in fact, be Aunt Santana. She is openly wailing, on the ground, until B picks her up and somehow puts her together. All of the baby knights are there to see you off, as well as their parents; really the security at JFK must hate them, because they are drawing quite a crowd and the paps are going crazy.

Your mom realizes that it is the passing of the torch, when you reserve your last hug for…Bea, who is speechless and sobbing, and gripping you so hard you're loosing sensation in your arms.

She looks in your eyes, asking for an unspoken promise.

You smile back at her. Whispering in her ear, you say, "Split-pea, you're my first love…and my last love. You're my only love, for the rest of my life. I promise."

She finally exhales, and releases her death grip on you. As you look back, you notice it is actually your mom, who is holding Bea; something about that makes you smile. You give one final wave to everyone, and your remember the night you gave your virginities to each other…and you start to twitch, a little, down below, thinking of Bea in that way. You sigh, because you know how hard it's going to be, until thanksgiving comes…and especially hard, since your dick has become accustomed to getting relief at least once, usually more, every single day. Maybe you should have weaned down, instead of fucking (four, oh my) like rabbits every day leading up to this; going cold turkey seems cruel.

Your shaft is already starting to itch for the relief its come to expect from Bea, and the plane hasn't even pulled away from the gate yet.

Bea is oddly comforted when Britt hugs her, and whispers confidentially in her ear, "Don't worry. He'll be back sooner than you think."

Your prediction was right. It was sheer torture, the withdrawal from Bea. Worse, you had girls coming out of the woodwork for you, throwing themselves at you. If you were considered an "eligible bachelor" in America, the frenzy over you in England is exponential. You're treated, inexplicably, like a rock star.

Occasionally, your angry python wants to betray your promise, you won't lie; naked women are constantly throwing themselves at you. You could literally have a different woman, every hour, on the hour, if you wanted. But you don't.

You want one woman. Your woman. Your Bea.

You are an excellent student, and you do well in your first year. Even though you're well liked, Eton is not amused by the constant distraction your presence causes on campus. You disrupt traffic flow, cause classes to be disrupted, and people actually steal things if you've touched them. It's bizarre to you. You appreciate the fact you're growing into a man who is not exactly ugly, but you're not prepared for the change in Bea, in just six months, when you get off the plane. She's almost sixteen. And she's breathtaking. You're in so much trouble….

Somehow, the two of you make it through your freshman year with phone sex and non-stop physical sex when you each respectively visit each other. Nothing changes, although it's always weird, for the first few hours. Bea always gets grouchy when she comes to visit you in England, because it really is different for you here…so you try to go there as much as possible. You go as her date to both her junior and senior prom, both times, she indifferently is elected prom queen. She could care less, especially because senior prom conflicted with her release date of her latest cookbook, and she only went because Mercedes and Sam's kids threatened to TP her car every day for a month if she didn't. Those damn junior knights.

And you smile with pride, realizing just how brilliant your woman is, on top of it. She gets in to her mothers' alma mater, Harvard, early decision. However, she also gets into Johnson and Wales culinary institute as well as Le Cordon Bleu in New York City and in London. So they have a decision to make. Everyone is surprised, a little, when Freddie transfers to Brown University, and Bea chose Johnson and Wales. They decided to follow their passion, in life and love. Regardless of the fact they're young, they are shockingly single minded. Bea plans on working in Boston's North End to hone her Italian cooking a bit after, while Freddie goes to law school at Santana's alma mater. Then, they are going to move back to NYC to take over their blended families' business.

Once time, during your junior year, the two of you are flew home, because you promised your Aunties Lea and Beth you'd make it back to Lea's opening night of the revival of Wicked. Naturally, you join the mile high club, to the disapproving glares of the attendants.

Your woman asks you nonchalantly if you think you should tell your parents, this trip that you got secretly married, and laughs as she watches you shudder. It seemed rational, at the time, the desire to have something just for them. You fear the entire state of New York will not feel the same way. _Your wife_ looks meaningfully at you, and informs you that _she wants to go off the pill_, so she thinks you should. Your eyes fill with tears as you hug her. And even though you emptied everything you had into her battered entrance just moments earlier, your member is getting hard again at the thought. You think how much you really are like your mother, with her weakness for the tiny woman she was still madly in love with. Rachel was her weakness, just as Bea is yours.

You never mention to Bea that Rachel was your first crush…because its just a technicality, really, and the oedipal component to it was just too weird. Besides, there is only one woman you love, and have ever loved, and will love, and she's sitting right next to you.

She's your vice, after all.

THE END


	32. Epilogue

**Title: The Shell Collector.**

**Pairing(s):** Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

**Rating**: No holds barred. M/NC-17 ratings.

**Extended Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy's characters, Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), The Academy Awards, the British monarchy, the Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, Skype, NYU, Tiffany's, or motherhood in general. I don't own any of the real actors of Glee either (that would be kind of creepy if I did). I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation required. P.S. More shit I don't own: Lea Michele. Demi Lovato. That hot chick from Rent. The hot mess that is Myley Cyrus. The Hippocratic oath. Yellow Jell-O.

**Summary**: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herse, lf again. This is the story of how she does just that.

**A/N:** Wow, I've been blown away the response- thank you.*blushing* Folks - I like to write smut with a bit of plot sprinkled in here and there, not the other way around. If you want K+, go read K+. Just sayin'. However, I really appreciate the extremely constructive criticism and copious complements, you guys were a lot of fun to write for when I took my jaw off the floor in realization other people were reading this besides me and my imaginary friend Eliose. (That last part is a joke. sort of.). You may see a spin off or two, specifically: authority figure Santana gets me unreasonably worked up, and her arrest (which I'm sure was so procedurally incorrect its not funny) has possibilities, and 2. Beth/Lea- its a lot of fun writing a pretend character and a real character...enter Dianna, perhaps? 3. I gave my pseudo-word to Dizzle24 that I would show the real story in order someday. Might even Beta it first. Who knows-miracles have been known to happen. I did kinda leave some chunks from the origional manuscript out. Finally, LaurenKnight, w1cked, laylaurei, cuccino24, AlyBerry, and SnugBr534- you have been the best homies, evah! Thanks for your insane support, I appreciate it.

**Epilogue****: The Welcome Address**

"Hello, prospective students, prospective parents, fellow academics; I thank you for considering New York's preeminent charter school, Direction Academy, for your secondary education. I'm Rachel Berry, Dean of Operations and Communications."

An impromptu round of applause broke out. From the back, someone yelled, "Sing, Rachel!"

She laughed. "That is traditionally saved for commencement, and primarily for my _other_ job. _Moving along_...Although we have a very short history here at Direction, I'm pleased to say, we have developed in five short years, a venerable and storied tradition of sorts."

She then took the microphone off the podium, and began walking up and down the rows to connect one on one with the audience.

"Imagine if you will... assembly of some of the greatest educators and non-traditional educators of our generation... People successful in very different fields, all brought together, in one institution, for one common goal: to establish and cultivate the next generation of individuals that will l_iterally_ change the way the world works."

The superintendent of schools leaned over to her principal. "Hey, they really drink up her Kool-Aid, don't they?"

"Don't we all?" He replied.

"Unbelievably...yeah, we do." She added after a moment. "I never thought I'd be excited to look at the fossilized brains of parents and their imbicile children again...and yet, the midget drew it out in me...pretty crafty."

"I think I would label it...gifted."

"Whatever, female Donny Osmond. Drink your Kool-Aid."

"Don't you mean, male Marie Osmand?" He asked, confused.

"Stop being such a communist. The lady's talking." She said, pointing at Rachel.

Rachel gave her traditional speech, detailing how the school was the singular inspiration of its current Chair of the Board of Trustees; and how the assembly and selection of a staff by the Chair quickly gave shape to the infantile Directions Academy, ultimately blossoming into he premiere high school of New York, ranking #1 in this years' US News and World Report ranking list; giving an abridged version of the trials and tribulations of starting a new school in the climate of New York City's public education system (intentionally leaving out the details of how the then District Attorney Santana Lopez strong armed a few colleagues). She described the vision of a strict bully free environment; how children could be free to learn and grow in an environment of "can-do.". She detailed the meteoric rise towards becoming an academic and an athletic powerhouse, and of course, the feeding ground of any child aspiring to any type of performing arts.

"So, allow me to introduce the person who's vision _began_ all of this...its my honor to introduce, Ms. Quinn Fabray, the Chair of the Board of Trustees."

A standing ovation met the bashful woman, as she headed towards the podium.

"I'd like to thank the Dean of Operations, for that lovely introduction; or as I like to say, '_Thanks, wife!_'"

After the obligatory chuckles died down, Quinn gazed across the audience, and began.

"I wish I could say I had some master plan, or really, had the ability to take credit for any of this. As it turns out, I really was just a piece of the puzzle. I had some resources to start this school, to help get it off the ground; but the vision, implementation, and direction falls to others, who deserve mention." She looked reverently around the room.

"First of all, I would like to introduce our Superintendent of Schools, Dr. Susan Sylvester; her academic reputation really needs no introduction. I thank you, Sue, for finding a way year in and year out, a way to allow our teachers to actually teach."

After the applause, Quinn continued. "Next, our excellent Principal of Schools, Dr. Blaine Anderson; whose experience and vision has made this institution what it is. Next, our Dean of Admissions, which we all recognize may be the hardest job here, I'd like to introduce Ms. Emma Shuester. Her job is to make this institution what it _will_ be. Myself, and Ms. Berry, are grateful for the dead on insight she applies every year to get that job done. Finally, you'll meet the incredible teaching staff today, but before we adjourn, I would like to mention our indomitable Board of Trustees. This is a group, I'm proud to say, boasts a Nobel laureate; multiple Tony, Oscar, and Grammy award winners; a Pulitzer Prize awardee; a James Beard finalist; a Newbury award winner; The President of the American Bar Association; A Superbowl champion participant; a former Governor; and,oh- I almost forgot...and of course, _ The Queen of England_."

Laughter erupted amongst the crowd.

"What the school brochures don't tell you, however, is this: on the same board, we also have people who have been convicted of crimes; suffered teen pregnancies; been broke and on welfare; have been thrown out of their homes and disowned; have been bullied; have acted as the bullies..." Quinn took a breath. "On this same board, are people who suffered from mental illness and survived, people who have disabilities, mental and physical; people who were told they would never go to college. Oh, and I don't think I need to mention... we also own the most famous losing streak, in history, for the Tony awards."

Nervous chuckles broke out.

"The moral is, here at Direction Academy, is this: these are the _same_ people, in group A as in group B. We could be defined by our successes, or our failures. The difference between the two groups is merely _perspective_, and opportunity, and someone who came along, who made a difference in our education. We know at this institution, the simple truth is that sometimes, it is not pure success that defines us. Sometimes, it is more important to be taught _how_ to succeed, than the actual act of succeeding."

XOXOXOX

The election returns were coming in painfully slowly. At Lopez headquarters, Santana had worn down the carpet to a nub.

"Hey! Tits! Take a load off, you're making ME nervous." Sue said, matter of factly.

Rachel gently pulled Santana down to the couch. "Santana, why don't you have one of Bea's meatballs? You haven't eaten anything all day!"

Her eyes were glued to the television. Smiling wanly at Rachel, she said to the innocent staffer by the television, "Kid! Turn it up, I want to hear the talking heads."

Q shook her head, grimly. "You sure about that, San?"

"I wouldn't have asked, otherwise."

"Fine. Can I ask why you're so much more insane about this campaign than you were about your own gubernatorial race last year?"

Biting her nails, she absently replied, "'Cause I'd knew I'd win. _Duh._ Now shhh, I want to hear this."

"_Why_ do you want to hear FOX news?" Rachel rolled her eye.

"Because you keep your friends close...but your enemies _closer_, Rachel. Now Shhh."

The longtime friends huddled around the broadcast. Despite her grimace, Rachel did actually keep quiet.

_"Dari, I can tell you, this is going to be a nail biter the whole way."_

_"Absolute, Ernie. New York's Thirteenth Congressional District, long held by Congressman Charles Rangel, has always been the bellweather of New York Politics. Upon his sudden death last year, its no secrecy the liberals hated the interim appointee,John Dockter, and that's why so much money has been thrown into this campaign!"_

_"Yes, this has been an astronomical campaign in terms of spending for a Congressional race. Despite his obvious lack of experience, the challenger definitely had some well connected folks in high places."_

_"Such as our own governor." Snorted Dani. "Talk about someone calling in favors! She has every special interest group lobbying for her - the gays, the Hispanics, and the Italians mobilized for her in record numbers for the inexperienced challenger."_

"It's 'Latinos' you racist! God, I never liked that stupid Bitch." Muttered Santana. Shouting at the TV, she said, "At least my brains are in my head, and not between my legs!"

Brittany rubbed her back, consolingly, as Santana swore in Spanish.

_"Well, all all that money doesn't seem to matter now. is The once invulnerable 'golden boy' of politics, who seemed immune to losing, definitely faltered along the way at the end, some pundits are saying a race that was his to lose might just be that. Certainly, the fact he had sex with an underage minor, and wasn't prosecuted, is a big factor."_

_A third voice interrupted. The figurehead liberal spoke up, "Yes, but they later married, and that claim was never proven to be factual. And Bea Lopez, his wife, his off the scale in terms of likability. Plus the fact he's married to a Hispanic/Italian woman plays well in this city, and in this district."_

Santana stood up, shaking her fists. "Why the** fuck** doesn't anyone listen?_ I am not Italian_. Bea is **not** Italian! What the fuck do I have to do to get this across to people?"

Q laughed. "San, relax. So what if she's Italian?"

"But she's NOT! She's Puerto Rican and _Chinese!_" Her eyes went wide as she realized her inadvertent confession.

Seven sets of eyes focused on her, saying in unison "**_What?_**"

**"Forget** I said that. Go back to watching the drones on FOX."

"Chinese? Oh no, girlfriend, you don't drop a bomb like that and walk away!" Mercedes said, laughing.

Slow realization dawned on the group, and every pair of eyes, once on Santana, swiveled to Tina Cohen-Chang, whom they now called Chang-Chang, after her marriage to Mike.

"Is that why you didn't want your son, Bai, to date Bea in middle school?" Lauren asked, making the connection, and laughing.

Tina went red, and began to stutter, looking at Santana helplessly.

"Okay, you fucking voyeur perverts, leave Chang-Chang alone. Yes, Mike is the donor,_ a'ight?_ Bea made me promise not to tell, so she could keep some ridiculous illusion of Italian-ness, so you losers need to keep a lid on it!"

The only one who wasn't freaked out was Sue Sylvester.

"Ahhh. I commend you, Santana Lopez. Your inflatable flotation devices didn't screw up your brain, totally. You went for the _Asian fast track_, didn't you?"

The Governor was blushing. "I don't know what you mean."

"You picked the smartest genetic donor you knew. Brilliant. Strong work, that explains a lot about her. Well, I thought you stole her from some nursery in Cambridge, Massachusetts, but I'm glad to know there's an explanation for her brilliance." Sue nodded her head. "Good job, Lopez."

"Well," deflected Santana, "He did graduate second in our class. And as far as I know, Quinn doesn't produce sperm, so, that left me with Number #2."

"Actually, I do produce sperm. Rachel just made me get a vasectomy."

"Okay, ew. Programs' on." Brittany announced.

_"Unbelievably, the challenger still appears to have held on to his slim lead of 58% to 40%, with 2% undecided. The polls have closed in New York, with 80% of the precincts reporting."_

"Fuck my eyeballs. Only FOX would call a 12% victory margin "slim." What fuckers! What _fucking_ fuckheads, damn!"

Q held out the swear jar and Santana put a $50 bill in it.

"Well, kids, it appears there is a first time for everything." Santana said, smugly.

"What's that, San?"

"It appears..._ New York has sent an honest man to Washington_." She smiled, stretching, and said to no-one in particular, "Hey, losers? Do we have any of Bea's breadsticks left?"

**THE END.**


End file.
